


Ours is the Future

by SideStepping



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-04-18 18:07:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 38,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4715531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SideStepping/pseuds/SideStepping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three months have passed since Merlin revealed his magic to Arthur, and saved Arthur's life, at Camlann, and their relationship is strained. Then a surprise attack on Camelot sparks events beyond their control and it is only in the face of an old enemy they thought they'd never meet again, and discovering the powers beyond even destiny that they find their hope in one another once more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a bit of a marathon, and as usual my good intentions of being finished well before the due date were laid to waste, but here we are at last! 
> 
> Many thanks to [Narlth](http://narlth.livejournal.com) for stepping up to make art for the fic, you were amazing to work with! The art is [here!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4715309?view_full_work=true)
> 
> Thanks also to [bend_me_baby](http://bend_me_baby.livejournal.com) for the amazing beta skills! 
> 
> Finally all the thank you's to the mods for putting up with panic and flailing, and for organising this fest!

He was going to _kill_ Arthur.

That was if the army, standing beyond the gates of Camelot, didn't get there first.

He entered the throne room with his usual lack of propriety and whilst a few heads turned in his direction, the majority remained focused on Arthur who was speaking hurriedly and pointing at different people. Arthur glanced up at Merlin's entrance and rolled his eyes.

“Nice of you to join us, Merlin,” he said.

Merlin ignored Arthur's remark and pushed through the group of nobles around the table to get to Arthur's side.

“It would have been a little easier, _sire_ , if I'd been able to find you,” he responded, glancing up at Gwaine and Percival and wondering why they looked so worried. There was a brief pause and then Merlin turned to Arthur.

“What's wrong?”

“They have sorcerers,” Gwen spoke up.

“Oh.”

“Exactly, Merlin. Which is why it wasn't imperative you joined us,” Arthur replied, his head down and his fingers skating across a map of the citadel.

“But …” Merlin frowned, “surely I can handle them?” He waved his hand in the air miming a vaguely magic action. “We've been through this, Arthur.”

Arthur looked up and met his gaze, something Merlin couldn't figure out going on beyond his eyes, and set his jaw.

“There are several of them, and you're still …” Arthur bit his lip.

Merlin stilled the outburst that threatened to escape him.

“I can take them, Arthur,” he said sincerely, reaching across to put his hand over Arthur's which was fiddling with the corner of the map.

“Everyone here knows what you gave up to save me, Merlin,” Arthur said, his voice hoarse but determined. “I can't ask that of you.”

Something dropped a little inside of Merlin because Arthur still didn't trust him fully. The corners of his mouth turned down and he tightened the hold of his hand over Arthur's. Arthur met his gaze, his teeth worrying the edge of his lip and his whole demeanour _uncertain_.

Merlin couldn't blame him, it can't have been easy to have had his whole world turned on his head, to have nearly died and then find that the person he trusted above all others, his servant, friend … _lover_ , had been lying to him since the day they met. Arthur still needed time to heal, to steadily come to trust Merlin. But they didn't have time.

It was Leon, racing into the throne room, who broke the moment.

“Sire, their forces are mobilising.”

Not without reluctance in his gaze, Arthur dragged his hand away from Merlin's. “I want you to stay safe, ok?” he asked, something wholly venerable in his gaze.

“Only if you do,” Merlin replied, trying for a smile which didn't quite reach his eyes.

Arthur's hand came to rest on his shoulder fleetingly and he gave Merlin a short nod before tossing his cape over a nearby chair and striding from the room, his knights falling into step behind him.

Merlin hesitated before spinning around and heading for a different exit. He needed to get to one of the towers – to see what was going on.

* * *

_Camlann, three months earlier._

“Arthur, Arthur … hold on. It's ok.”

“I'm dying, Merlin.”

“No … no you're not.”

Mordred's body still lay nearby, Morgana was lost in the fight. Silence had fallen over the valley.

Arthur wound his fingers through Merlin's, tightening his grip as Merlin tried to move him. Merlin bit back a cry of frustration, running his hand under Arthur's back and trying to resettle his hold on his king. They had fallen back against a wall of rock, dead soldiers surrounding them, crows already sweeping in. They were closer in this moment, in this embrace, than they had ever been before. Merlin's magic was still roaring loud in his ears, his whole body tingling from where it had been restored.

“Did we – did we win?” Arthur croaked.

“Yes, yes you did, Arthur.”

A small, croaked laugh escaped Arthur's lips. “Don't pretend, Merlin. I saw what you did.”

“Wha-? What d'you mean?” Something tightened around Merlin's heart.

“On the cliff. The sorcerer … it was you, wasn't it? You're a sorcerer.”

Arthur's voice was steady, but his fingers clenched ever tighter around Merlin's. Merlin couldn't work out how Arthur felt by his tone and he swore his heart stopped a beat because Arthur _knew_.

“After all this time …”

“Arthur, please--”

“Don't.”

“Arthur-”

“Don't say anything.” Arthur's grip was vice like around Merlin's hand now. Merlin thought that any moment Arthur might snap his fingers. Maybe he wanted to.

Then, all of a sudden, Arthur's grip loosened and he tilted his head back against Merlin's shoulder with a sigh.

“What does it even matter? I'm dying. Nothing can change that.”

“I could – I could try, Arthur. Just let me--”

“No. You won't. I can't ask that of you. I can't cheat death like that.”

The silence-shattering scream of a crow made them both jump and Merlin's eyes drifted unwillingly to the fallen soldiers around them. He couldn't save them all.

“It's not cheating, Arthur. I'm just saving you. Please, please let me save you … I can't lose you.” Tears sprang up in Merlin's eyes, partly of frustration, partly of fear, because he could be so close to saving Arthur, but Arthur wouldn't let him try.

“If I'm dying. I want to remember you like the Merlin I knew,” Arthur rasped out. “I don't want anything to change.”

“You can't be like this, Arthur. You can't be so--”

“What? Stubborn? That's what you always called me, Merlin and I'm not changing now. Just … give me this.”

“I haven't changed though,” Merlin sobbed bitterly, overly aware of Arthur's body against his and how Arthur still hadn't taken his hand from Merlin's. “I'm the same person I always was.”

“Well then I guess it's all just been a lie,” Arthur snapped.

Something splintered inside Merlin.

“No. No. You're wrong. Everything I ever did was for you, Arthur, because I love you. And I don't care if you're dying, you need to know that.”

* * *

Merlin braced himself against the rough stone of the parapet, closing his eyes briefly against the sick feeling in his stomach that those memories brought forth. Since Camlann, he and Arthur had been at an awkward balance, dancing between cool detachment and a tentative, nervous understanding of each other. They'd talked, briefly and awkwardly. Merlin had tried to explain, but Arthur had only responded with nods and grunts of assent. They'd never really _talked_. Never really discussed it all. And whilst their relationship had no doubt become closer – hands lingering, gazes meeting in a room full of faces – Merlin couldn't help but think it wasn't for the reasons he'd hoped.

He'd poured his life forces into Arthur at Camlann. He'd kept him alive, because to Merlin, a life without Arthur was meaningless. They were bound more tightly now than they had ever been under destiny's curse … and Merlin was sure Arthur could feel it too.

But nothing was the same. At Camlann, everything had changed and Merlin no longer knew where he stood.

The army beyond Camelot's walls was advancing. Archers sent arrows up at the battlements and Merlin could see a battering ram being positioned at the city gates. What was far more threatening however, was the cold tidal wave of magic building up. Layer upon layer of it rising up and smothering the city. Even from his vantage point, Merlin couldn't determine where the sorcerers were, but from the way their spells seemed to envelop the city, it felt like he was surrounded by foreign magic.

He lifted his hands, letting his magic bubble forth. It came easily, but he could feel the pull on his heart and even a small spell was a strain.

He wouldn't have admitted it to Arthur. Arthur would blame himself – although Merlin wasn't entirely sure he didn't already – and there was nothing Merlin could do to take back what he'd done.

He'd spoken to the dragon later, after the battle, when his magic was no longer a whirling, raging tempest.

_“You will need time, young warlock. For even with all your power, the power over life and death – to change fate – is no small measure.”_

_“But, he'll be alright? Arthur? He's alive?”_

_“Very much so, young warlock.”_

_“Then I did the right thing? I got it right?”_

_“Time. Merlin. Time.”_

Kilgharrah's words had not done much to reassure Merlin, but the knowledge that he had saved Arthur was enough.

It hadn't taken him long to notice the strain on his magic, and Arthur noticed too. Maybe he even felt it, they were both so tuned to each other's emotions and feelings these days.

Merlin cast his magic over the city, seeking out the sources of the other sorcerers' magic. He closed his eyes, drawing power up from the earth, from the stone surrounding him and one by one, he broke the threads of alien magic and then wiped the traces of their magic from the sky. By the time he finished, he was collapsed against the stone of the parapet, shaking and pale. His mind called him to unconsciousness, told him he needed to sleep, but he forced his eyes open. He needed to focus. How many had there been? Eight? Nine? And they were still out there. Their magic held at bay for now, but not for long. And who knew what damage they could create if they entered the city. He needed to get back down there and warn Arthur.

He was forced to take the stairs slowly, legs trembling beneath him as he tried to hurry. He didn't have time. And he'd be damned if he was going to lose Arthur again. Not now, not when they hadn't repaired the bond between them. As much as Merlin believed Arthur had, in a way, forgiven him for hiding his magic, he didn't think Arthur would be prepared to let Merlin save his life again. There had been something so broken in Arthur's gaze when they had arrived back in Camelot, so detached as he looked over the bodies of the fallen. Guilt. It had been survivor’s guilt, and Merlin had had to bite his lip so often over the past weeks because Arthur had yet to thank him. Surely Arthur hadn't wanted to die? No, he was just too noble. Too honourable.

The 'I'm a sorcerer' part didn't help either, Merlin reminded himself sternly. He couldn't let his thoughts drift down darker paths. He might not come back.

The castle was echoing with noise as he ran. It seemed the enemy soldiers had breached the citadel and even as Merlin ran, he could feel the magic of the sorcerers building up once more. There were shouts ahead of him and a tidal wave of brown cloaks poured into the corridor. Merlin ducked into an alcove, steadying his shaking hands because he needed to focus.

Setting his jaw, he looked up at the ceiling, summoned his power, and with a belt of magic, cracked the stone in two.

He was forced to cover his head with his arms as stone and dust rained down. There were shouts on the other side of the rockfall and he knew the enemy soldiers would be held back. But, even as he leant back against the wall of the alcove, dizziness and fatigue swept over him. He gulped. This wasn't good.

He'd had no call in the past few weeks to do anything more than the most menial tasks with his magic. Camelot's laws still forbade the use of magic – although Merlin knew … _hoped_ … Arthur was working to change that – and there hadn't been any need for it. But the enormous drain on his power right now was almost too much. He felt weak, helpless.

He pushed himself off the wall, leaning heavily against the stonework as he made his way back down the corridor away from the rockfall. His vision swam and a rush of nausea hit him making him double over. He kept going, one thought driving him on.

 _Arthur. Arthur. Arthur_.

He had to keep Arthur safe.

By the time he reached the end of the corridor, patches of his sight were going dark. He couldn't focus on where he was putting his feet and without realising it, the floor was rushing up to meet him.

* * *

“Merlin. Merlin!”

He came round to the sound of his name being called, as if from a great distance away. Next came the sensation of someone patting his cheek and gently shaking his shoulder.

“Come on, Merlin this isn't the best time for sleeping!”

Merlin blinked his eyes open to see a wave of hair and then Gwaine's face swinging into view.

“You alive?”

Merlin rolled over slowly, blinking away the darkness at the corners of his vision.

“Wha' 'appened?” he croaked, looking around dazedly and wondering how he came to be on the floor.

“That have anything to do with you?” Gwaine asked, his head indication something down the corridor. Merlin propped himself up on his elbows and took in the wall of rock.

“Ah. Yes. Maybe?”

He looked back at Gwaine and only then took in his rugged appearance. There was blood on his cheek and he appeared to be holding his arm close to his chest as if it hurt him.

“What's going on? Where's Arthur? What about the battle?” Alertness returned to Merlin in a flash and he sat bolt upright, already trying to climb to his feet whilst ignoring how the world swayed about him.

“Merlin, Merlin, slow down.” Gwaine’s hand was heavy on his arm, pushing Merlin back to the floor.

Merlin sank down, half grateful because the it was still taking time for the world to orient itself. “Arthur sent me to find you.”

“What's going on?” Merlin was caught between desperately trying to get to his feet once again and actually wanting to just stay on the floor.

“Something along the lines of – find him and tell him, if he's been using magic, he's cleaning out the stables for a month.” Gwaine rolled his eyes.

“But does he need me?” Merlin insisted.

Something sad passed over Gwaine's face for a moment before he simply grinned. “The princess needs us both, I think.”

Merlin bit his lip at Gwaine's grim tone and took his good arm when it was offered to him, letting Gwaine pull him to his feet and then support his weight as Merlin swayed.

“So, what's wrong, exactly, with your magic?” Gwaine asked, slinging Merlin's arm over his shoulder.

Merlin, caught off-guard by Gwaine's blunt question, stammered for a little.

“I … I – I'm not sure. Something … well, I saved Arthur's life, that was … big.” He shrugged helplessly, trying not to lean on Gwaine as much as he was, but finding little strength to keep himself upright otherwise.

Gwaine hummed in agreement and they carried on in silence, heading toward the throne room. Merlin couldn't help but notice how quiet the castle was around them.

“Gwaine, what happened in the--”

“You could have told me,” Gwaine cut in. “You know, about the magic.”

Merlin swallowed down his question and looked at his feet.

“I wouldn't have told anyone … I would have been there for you.”

“I know that. I just couldn't--”

“No, no. Sorry. I get it.”

Gwaine abrupt dismissal sent Merlin into silence, his eyes straying everywhere except Gwaine's face. Looking back, he found it was only really the people who'd found out by chance that he'd ever told. Except Freya, he'd never really opened up by choice. Lancelot had been an accident. Gaius had been in the moment and there were others, Will, his mother, but no one he'd opened up to simply because he had wanted to, simply because he could. And, looking back, maybe he should have. Maybe he should have accepted that part of who he was more easily, realised he had friends around him, friends like Gwaine in whom he could have confided. Maybe he should have realised that his magic wasn't simply meant for his destiny, it was part of him, and he'd been keeping it hidden all that time. With the reserved air Arthur now permanently maintained around him, Merlin had begun to wonder; had it all been worth it?

“Whatever thoughts are going through your head right now, Merlin, forget it. I know you and you'd have only ever done what you thought was right.”

Merlin chewed the inside of his cheek. Gwaine said he knew Merlin, but Merlin had never opened up to him. Somewhere along the way, the line between what he felt was right and what he felt was necessary had become blurred. He didn't even feel like he knew himself any more.

“No. Stop it, Merlin. For goodness sake.”

Gwaine halted in the corridor, ducking out from under Merlin's arm and forcing Merlin to lean back against the wall for balance.

“This isn't like you. This isn't the Merlin I know.”

Merlin shrugged again. “I've changed.”

“Yeah, I get it. Magic. But you haven't gone over to the dark side, Merlin. However much you say you've changed, some of the 'old' you is still in there. Otherwise, do you think Arthur would let you anywhere near this castle? We can still see the old Merlin. The one who's still fighting. Because you may think you've changed, but we can all still see it. You'd give your life for Arthur without a thought – you already did!”

Merlin shook his head blankly, wondering where this outburst was coming from, not understanding what Gwaine meant.

“What I'm saying is,” Gwaine said, frustratedly poking Merlin in the chest. “The magic doesn't change anything. Just because we know … You can't really believe--”

Gwaine's next words were cut of by an explosion which shook the very foundation of the castle. Dust sprinkled down on them from the ceiling and Merlin doubled over, a powerful belt of magic tearing through him, shaking him to the core.

His flailing hand found Gwaine's arm and, blinking through the dust, squeezed tight.

“We'll talk later?”

“If there even is a later, come on!” Gwaine seemed to know there was something even more dangerous than an explosion because he grabbed Merlin and hauled him along, practically carrying him when Merlin's feet refused to cooperate.

It was as if the castle had realised it could once again make sound. Screams could be heard and people were fleeing from the direction Merlin and Gwaine were heading. As they neared the throne room, the dust thickened.

The magic in the air was building, sweeping up like backwash from the explosion. However, as they neared the throne room, Gwaine took a sharp left, away from where the magic was being cast and headed up the passage which led to the back of the throne room.

Merlin frowned, the lack of enemy soldiers worrying him and he caught hold of Gwaine's arm, forcing him to slow down as Gwaine's pace had nearly become a run.

“Gwaine. What's going on?”

Gwaine looked torn. “Arthur said to wait until we were in the throne room.”

“Why?” Merlin demanded.

“He was worried you'd …” Gwaine trailed off.

Merlin scowled. “Gwaine, come on. You don't chicken out. Tell me.”

“He was worried you would try and take the sorcerers head on. They've … they've got Gwen and Leon. They're threatening to kill them if we don't hand over the kingdom.”

Merlin was already spinning on his heel, heading for where the magic was because he'd be damned if he'd let them hurt friends.

Gwaine grabbed hold of him and forced him back.

“No. Merlin. Stop.”

“Why should I? I can take them, Gwaine! They've got our friends!”

He wrenched out of Gwaine's grasp, immediately feeling guilty as he bumped Gwaine's injured arm.

Gwaine didn't even wince. “They want you too, Merlin. We're in the throne room now, preparing to fight.”

“You're going against sorcerers--”

“And what?” Gwaine was back in his face. “You think you can take them on your own? You passed out back there Merlin! Stop thinking you have to do this alone.”

Merlin's breaths were short and stuttering his chest as Gwaine's frustration passed and his shoulder sagged. He stepped away, shaking his head.

“Come on, we've wasted too much time.”

“What's wrong Gwaine?” Merlin bit his lip, longing for the easy friendship that they'd shared for so long. Up until …

Gwaine threw a hand in the air. “Who knows, Merls? Who bloody well knows?”

Merlin looked away, not fully understanding how and where he'd gone so wrong, but dreading the fact he might just know the reason.

“Come on. Can't keep her highness waiting,” Gwaine said gruffly, none of his usual light-heartedness in his tone.

Merlin followed after him in silence.

They entered the throne room after a knock at the door and a hushed, “It's us” from Gwaine.

Percival opened the door, his sword raised and his face grim, but he relaxed slightly when he saw them.

Arthur was stood with a small group of the knights in the centre of the room, his back turned on Merlin and Gwaine and his sword hanging unsheathed by his side.

When they came in, he looked back, the harsh line of his shoulders melting a little before he stalked across.

“Where've you been?!” he hissed.

Merlin didn't rise to it. He knew this was how Arthur acted when he was worried, when things were out of control.

“What's been going on?” he asked. “Gwaine didn't elaborate.”

“They've got Gwen and Leon. Their soldiers have retreated, but the sorcerers are beyond that door. One came in here earlier to negotiate.” Arthur's head dropped. “We couldn't even move. Every single one of us frozen like statues.” He grimaced.

“And the explosion?” Merlin asked, his gaze turning toward the door where he could feel the sorcerers' magic building, seeping in through the cracks.

“Some of our knights tried to …” Arthur looked a little sick and didn't continue.

Merlin moved away, gut wrenching because it was happening all over again. War. And he couldn't save everyone. Right now he wasn't sure if he could save anyone.

“Why haven't they come in yet?” he asked loudly.

As if in reply, a cold wind blew into the room, a name whispered in the air.

“ _Emrys_.”

Merlin's hand was in the air, his magic bubbling to the surface, just as the door was blasted off its hinges.

Everything dissolved into chaos. Smoke billowed through the room and there were shouts from the knights. Merlin distinctly heard Arthur's cry of pain. His magic flared up at the sound, sending the smoke whistling back to its source and whirling around as he did, searching for Arthur amid the fray. The sight that met his eyes was not a pretty one, and his shoulders slumped as he took in each of his closest friends on their knees in front of a sorcerer.

“I believe we were waiting for you,” a smooth voice came from behind him, and Merlin turned again to find a lean, pale haired man standing close behind him. Merlin's magic sparked in warning.

“We couldn't, of course, start the party without you,” the man – sorcerer – continued, giving an oily smile.

Most of Arthur's remaining knights had fallen, their bodies crumpled on the wood floor. The only survivors surrounded Merlin, the sorcerers behind them, restraining them with magic. Closest to Merlin, Gwaine was red faced, clearly fighting with all he was worth. The short, stumpy witch behind him had a hand outstretched in a claw like fashion and as Merlin watched, her fist tightened. Gwaine choked.

Merlin's magic sprang to his aid, rushing forth for what it was meant to do – protect people.

A hand on his shoulder sent him jumping backwards and his magic receded.

“I wouldn't,” the pale haired sorcerer spoke again. “The consequences wouldn't be pretty.”

Merlin snorted. “You think I can't take her? Take all of you?” He gestured at the other sorcerers in the circle, not looking too hard of the brute of a man who had Gwen by the hair, not even bothering with magic; at the small girl who had Percival practically on all fours, his eyes burning with pain; at the dark haired witch, terribly reminiscent of Morgana, who had a hand at the base of Arthur's throat. His eyes were shut and his face almost smooth except for the small grimace of pain that flickered through. Leon was unconscious at the feet of a tall, bearded sorcerer whose dark eyes glared at Merlin from under heavy eyebrows.

He wondered how they'd managed it. To distract him for long enough to capture his friends, to bring Gwen and Leon into the room to get him into a situation where he was defenceless, helpless. It hadn't even taken a moment, he thought with a twist to his gut.

“Oh, but what about all of us at the same time?” The sorcerer said, his hand moving from Merlin's shoulder to his chin. Merlin refused to flinch at his touch. “After all, you're very weak after recent events … would you really want to condemn your friends to die?”

Merlin set his jaw, stamping down on his magic which was bucking in earnest, desperate to lash out at those who threatened his friends. But he couldn't. Because he wasn't strong enough anymore.

“We could take the pretty knight here, who fights so bravely. Or maybe the lady,” the sorcerer chuckled, his gaze moving to Gwen who resolutely looked in the other direction. “Or perhaps your precious king.”

Merlin jerked his chin out of the sorcerer's grasp and swallowed hard. He didn't have a choice.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice calm, but deadly.

The sorcerer bowed his head a little, a dark smile gracing his face again. He reached into the dark cape he wore and drew out a ring of metal, etched with runes of the Old Religion that Merlin would have translated, had he not been shrinking away from the power the collar exuded.

“Get on your knees, Emrys.” The sorcerer said, a smirk on his face as Merlin recoiled. “Now now, remember your friends …”

Merlin glanced desperately around, his magic screaming at him to get away, away from that _thing_. But as Percival collapsed to the floor, a small, helpless grunt of pain escaping him, Merlin knew he had little option. He could just try and blast them all to kingdom come … but at what price?

He unlocked his knees, sinking towards the floor. A slight touch of magic, ugly and foreign, pressed down on his shoulders and he crashed forward, biting his lip as his knees hit the floor.

The sorcerer stepped forward, his magic swirling round Merlin in an embrace that would be easy to throw off but …

The stillness of the room was broken by one desperate shout from Arthur.

“Don't do it, Merlin!”

The sorcerer with the collar jerked his head at the woman restraining Arthur and she slid her hand up, gripping tight over his throat. Arthur's jaw snapped shut.

Tearing his gaze away from Arthur, Merlin only just realised what was happening as the collar snapped shut around his neck.

White blinding pain shot down him from head to toe, every nerve-ending on fire. Distantly he heard someone screaming. His magic lashed and bucked, but the icy weight around his neck kept it down. His knees gave way and he hit the floor in a crash.

As awareness returned, he heard shouting. Gwaine had struggled to his feet, managing to land a punch on the short witch before two others converged on him. Arthur's eyes were wide open, his gaze fixed on Merlin and his face white. Gwen was struggling against the sorcerer holding her, her eyes shining with tears.

“And so,” Merlin heard the sorcerer above him say, “the great Camelot falls.”

He tried to say something, tried to force some words out of his throat that was raw with screaming. Because Camelot wasn't just about him … it was about the people, about Arthur …

But even as he watched, Arthur's eyes rolled up into his head and the woman stepped away, a smirk on her face as he dropped to the floor. A moment later, Gwen also crumpled. Gwaine's shouts had died to silence.

“Take them away,” the sorcerer ordered and with a wave of his hand, Merlin too blacked out. **  
**

* * *

It was to the gentle sound of hooves, a swaying motion to the world and hard metal bars digging into his back that he woke. He groaned and tried to drag up his arms which were pinned awkwardly under his back. He stopped, however, when sharp manacles dug into his wrists.

“Merlin?” a tentative voice asked and his eyes cracked open to see Arthur, pale and drawn, sat a little way away from him. They were in a cage, the forest moving past beyond the bars and soldiers in brown cloaks flanking them on either side. As Merlin looked back he saw two similar cages following them. One with Leon and Gwen, another with Gwaine and Percival at the back.

The cage lurched at a hole in the road and Merlin tipped sideways. The collar dug into his neck.

“Are you alright?” Arthur asked quietly. Looking closer, Merlin could see Arthur's wrists were also chained behind his back and he had an ugly bruise across one cheek.

“You're hurt,” Merlin started, trying to move toward him, but getting tangled in the chains. He managed to manoeuvre himself into a sitting position, with his back against the side of the cage.

“It's nothing,” Arthur said, shrugging lightly. “What about you?”

“Feel … tired,” Merlin said, his breath catching in his throat because no matter how hard he tried to reach of his magic, it was out of reach.

“And …” Arthur took a glance at the soldiers outside the cage, but they didn't appear interested. “Your magic?”

Merlin gulped and shook his head.

Arthur set his jaw and tilted his head back against the bars behind him. “Does it hurt?” he asked. “The collar?”

“It did,” Merlin replied. “I just feel … empty now.”

They fell to silence, Merlin looking out at the woods as they rolled past. He recognised where they were vaguely. One of the South roads that they'd taken a few times during the winter patrols. He seemed to remember it led to the coast.

“How long was I unconscious?” he asked Arthur.

Arthur shrugged. “I only woke up a bit before you. We're several hours from Camelot though.”

Merlin bit his lip. He didn't like seeing Arthur like this. Slumped, defeated. Usually they'd have been trading insults at this point, whilst Arthur came up with a completely ridiculous escape plan which went ridiculously wrong up until the point where Merlin whispered a spell behind Arthur's back and they were able to get away. Things had changed though, and magic was a little out of the question now.

“You didn't have to put the collar on. You could have saved yourself,” Arthur said, his gaze not quite meeting Merlin's.

Merlin frowned. “What? And let them kill you all?!”

Arthur bit his lip and turned his head away. “No, but …” he trailed off, nothing else to say.

“There wasn't anything we could do, Arthur,” Merlin responded calmly. “But we'll get out of this, I promise.”

The smallest of smiles touched Arthur's lips and he nodded, but something still seemed so desperate about him that Merlin barely felt like he'd got through to him at all.

Neither of them spoke again for a long time.

* * *

As night fell, the convoy came to a stop. They hadn't said much as the hours went past and any questions to the soldiers had either resulted in silence or jabs in the ribs with the hilts of the soldiers' swords accompanied by mocking laughter. They didn't know where they were going, or what was going to happen to them. More to the point, they had no idea who exactly had led the attack on Camelot. Arthur had vented with a few short, unfinished sentences about what he would do when they reclaimed his kingdom. But for all his anger, Merlin could tell he was worried, could see how afraid Arthur was for the people of Camelot, for the kingdom they hadn't managed to defend.

The carts with the cages were stopped at the edge of a clearing and whilst most of the soldiers moved away to set up camp for the night, a small group stayed nearby, their swords drawn and watching the cages. There was no sign of the sorcerers.

For the first time since they had woken up, they were able to talk to Gwen and the knights. The cages were parked side by side and Merlin twisted, the manacles digging into his wrists, trying to see if the others were okay in the half-light.

Gwen and Leon's cage was in the middle and Merlin was proud to see how strong Gwen still seemed. Her back was straight and whilst her hair was falling from it's neat arrangement, and her dress dirty, she still seemed much the queen she always had been. Leon looked a little worse for wear, a stain of blood near one of his temples and there was a gash down one side of his chainmail.

“I'm alright, Merlin,” Leon said as Merlin's anxious glance, “nothing a good night's sleep can't remedy.”

In the next cage along, Gwaine snorted.

“Because _that_ seems likely,” he said, his voice sullen.

There was a thump and it sounded like Percival had kicked Gwaine.

“We're getting out of this,” Gwen said, her was calm and firm. “We're all getting out of this.”

Leon and Percival hummed in agreement, and Merlin gave a small smile. Arthur and Gwaine were both silent.

“What about you, Merlin?” Gwaine asked a while later. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Merlin replied, his voice a little hollow. “I'm fine.”

“Can you ...” Gwen asked haltingly.

“No.”

Merlin twisted back, not really wanting to see their pitying looks, but as he turned, he met Arthur's gaze and the brokenness and pain in that one look had him curling himself away in the corner. His collar itched and weighed heavy around his neck, but there was nothing he could do about it no matter how much he struggled at the manacles.

A short while later, guards brought over food. They shoved hunks of bread through the bars and then stood back to watch, laughing as the prisoners exchanged looks. Swallowing his pride, Merlin leant down, stretching his chains to full length before he managed to catch the bread in his hands and tore a chunk off with his teeth. The bread wasn't bad and he was hungry. His portion was soon gone and he sat back up to find Arthur hadn't even tried to eat his own.

“You eat it,” Arthur said tiredly. “I'm not hungry.”

“You need to eat,” Merlin responded bluntly, kicking Arthur's share nearer to him.

Arthur turned away. “I'm not hungry,” he repeated firmly.

“You need to keep your strength up, sire,” Leon said from the next cage.

Arthur didn't respond, simply closed his eyes and shuffled into a more comfortable position.

With a sigh, Merlin used his feet to bring Arthur's bread near to him once more. He thought he'd save it, they might need it later.

The guards near the cages changed shifts, and seeing as nothing much was happening, and Arthur appeared to have fallen asleep, Merlin too curled up, resting his head against the bars and trying not to think too much about the heavy weight of the collar around his neck.

* * *

The next morning, the guards re-harnessed the horses to the cages and they were on the move again. Merlin had barely slept and the bumps in the road only added to his growing headache from lack of water and the emotional strain of the previous day. Arthur was silent and withdrawn.

The carts were stopped mid-morning. One by one they were released from their chains and taken by the soldiers into the forest to relieve themselves.

Gwen was last and this seemed to evoke a reaction from every single one of them, even Arthur who hadn't even tried to fight when the guards had taken him from the cage. The male guards stepped back, however, and the short witch who had restrained Gwaine back in Camelot appeared from further down the line of soldiers and horses. Arthur still seemed restless, and there was little they could do, but Gwen simply raised her chin and gave a reassuring nod to the men in their cages before heading into the cover of the trees, the witch following. It was a tense few minutes, but Gwen returned, seemingly unharmed. When she was back in her cage with Leon, Merlin heard her say, “I'm fine. Nothing happened.”

He wished he could check. He wished he could wrap her in his magic and burn away anything the witch might have done. He couldn't though.

He let his head fall back against the bars and sighed through his teeth.

A soldier hopped up into the cage and gave them both water and left more bread. Arthur again refused to eat his share and Melin wordlessly put it with the last. It would go stale, he thought, but it would be enough if they needed it. _When_ they needed it.

They'd been on the move again for another few hours before Arthur spoke.

“Why just us six?” he asked quietly, looking back at Gwen, Leon, Gwaine and Percival's cages.

Merlin had been twisting his wrists in his manacles, trying to distract himself from the growing itch of the collar around his neck. It felt strangely like something was calling out to the collar, or perhaps the collar was getting nearer to something. He didn't like to think what.

“Why not more of the knights? The nobles? The council members? Why just us?”

“You wish more people were in our situation?” Merlin asked and Arthur narrowed his eyes.

“Of course not,” he snapped. “But … I'm just worried about the people.”

“We'll get back to Camelot,” Merlin replied, trying for the encouraging tone. “We'll sort all this out. You'll be able to defend your people again soon, Sire.”

Arthur looked at him for a moment, either surprised at Merlin's genuine use of his title or marvelling at the amount of optimism Merlin was spewing.

“You don't have to call me that,” he responded. “I'm not king anymore.”

“Arthur, come on, we've always made it back in the past. Surely you can't give up hope now!”

Arthur didn't reply, his jaw clenched and his gaze fixed firmly away from Merlin.

It can't have been more than an hour later when, with a jolt, Merlin saw the marker which indicated the edge of Camelot's borders. As the cage rolled past, he saw Arthur look up and then close his eyes, a stray tear winding its way down his cheek.

* * *

Two more days passed in much the same way. They stayed in relative silence the whole way, only occasionally would one of them break the silence. Merlin was unable to sleep, the collar itching and weighing heavier as each day passed and his wrists were sore from rubbing the manacles.

Gwaine had made one brave attempt to escape, breaking loose of his captors when they had let them out of the cages to relieve themselves again. He'd made it to the tree line, a sword in his hand, ready to run when he'd spared one look back for his comrades.

When the sorcerer, the short witch from before and the only one who seemed to show her face, had attacked Gwaine from behind, Percival had almost broken loose from his chains in a desperate attempt to reach his friend.

Apart from that one event, they'd been remarkably quiet prisoners. Merlin felt it was something to do with Arthur's lack of optimism. He was their leader, their king, and his hopelessness was seeping into each one of them in turn.

The guards had forced Arthur to eat once, which at least confirmed they were trying to keep them alive. The soldiers hadn't exactly been rough with them either, besides the occasional mocking and taunting, they remained unharmed.

Unharmed, Merlin reminded himself, but prisoners all the same.

* * *

It was around midday on the third day when they rolled out of the woods and into a wide open grassy field. The field sloped upwards towards a castle which stood at its peak. It was a small structure, tumbled-down in parts, but a quite substantial town ringed it and the number of soldiers training in the field showed it was well defended.

Merlin sent an inquiring look Arthur's way, wondering if he would know where they were.

“Lord Asard's castle,” Arthur responded, his voice gravelly from lack of use. “We're in what was Cenred's kingdom until after Morgause killed him. Different nobles seized land wherever they could after Cenred's death. Asard's done quite well for himself since Cenred's demise.”

“Is he a sorcerer?” Merlin asked.

Arthur frowned. “No, of course not. Why d'you ask?”

Merlin pressed his lips together and didn't answer.

The collar was more than just itching now, it was burning against his neck. Whoever's power was bound to the collar was nearby, Merlin could tell.

Their convoy carried on, following the road which ran through the centre of the town to the keep. Some of the townspeople stared as they passed and some spat or cursed them. The majority, however, carried on with what they were doing, heads bent, eyes downcast.

“What a strange place,” Merlin heard Leon murmur in the cart behind them.

“Surely they don't have an army as great as the one that attacked us?” Gwen responded.

“And last we heard, Asard wasn't consorting with sorcerers,” Leon replied grimly.

They rolled under the portcullis of the keep, a quietness descending as they left the noise of the town. Numerous soldiers were in the courtyard beyond and they all stopped what they were doing to watch as the cages came to a halt.

The manacles were undone and they were dragged from the cages, their chains reattached on the other side before they were pushed forwards. Gwaine and Percival needed more than a little persuading, but eventually they were forced to their knees at the bottom of the steps facing the doors of the keep.

The doors crashed open a few moments later and a man dressed in black, with dark hair swept back off his face and narrow eyes came striding down the steps. He was fairly short, so he had to stand a few steps above them to maintain a powerful air.

“Lord Asard,” Gwen spoke out, catching him unawares as he'd clearly been expecting to speak first. He scowled in her direction and Gwen raised her chin. Merlin felt a surge of respect for her.

“Why have you done this, Asard?” Leon cut in. Beside Merlin, he saw Arthur shift, but Arthur seemed to have no plans of acting. “Your attack on Camelot was unprovoked and violent.”

“Quiet, quiet, please, Sir Leon,” Asard said, a smooth and foreign lilt to his voice that Merlin couldn't place. “Firstly, you presume incorrectly that it was _I_ who ordered the attack, and second, you are _my_ prisoners and will speak when asked.”

“You say you didn't order an attack, but we're _your_ prisoners,” Gwaine said, struggling against the hold his guards had on him. “I don't quite see how that works.”

“Perhaps the one who ordered the attack is allowing me to indulge in the spoils of the victory,” Asard smirked and none of them missed the way his gaze travelled to Gwen.

“You presume incorrectly that we would allow you to,” Percival growled.

Asard laughed. “Oh very good!” he crowed, “such spirit in you all still.” His laughter faded as he turned his gaze to Merlin and Arthur on the end of the line. “Except two of your number seem rather quiet.”

Asard walked along the steps until he was stood above Merlin.

“So this is the sorcerer,” he said, looking Merlin up and down, a considering gleam in his eye. “Not so powerful now are we? How are you enjoying your treatment? I'm told the collars are quite painful the more power you have.”

Beside Merlin, Arthur moved infinitesimally.

“And this is the great King Arthur,” Asard said, moving on. “How the mighty fall. Why so quiet _Sire_?”

Arthur set his jaw and refused to respond.

“Well,” Asard chuckled, “Is the great king already broken before he even reaches my torture chambers? Not a word in response? Oh well, I shall enjoy making you scream.”

“Don’t you dare.” Merlin was on his feet, somehow having broken free of the grasp of his guards.

Asard didn't laugh, he simply took a step down until he was at eye level with Merlin.

“What are you going to do, sorcerer? Burn me alive? Turn me into a frog? Strike me dead where I stand?” He gave a small laugh. He stepped even closer so only Merlin could hear his next words. “How quickly you will realise, I wonder, that you cannot protect those around you? How quickly will you come to terms with the fact you are nothing without your power? Helpless and alone.”

It was years of being in the service of Pendragons, having to keep his magic a secret, that inspired Merlin's next move. He spat in Asard's face, cheered for a moment by the look of sheer disgust in the man's expression before he was slammed back to his knees by the guards behind him. Asard wiped his face clean, a snarl on his lips.

“You'll live to regret that, sorcerer,” he snapped.

“His name is Merlin,” Arthur spoke out, his face a mask of anger. “And he's a warlock.”

“Not any more,” Asard sneered before turning a sweeping up the steps. “Take them away!”

The guards had taken hold of their chains and were dragging them across the courtyard before another shout stopped them. Fear curled in Merlin's stomach as he saw the sorcerer who had placed the collar around his neck step out of the doors.

“The sorcerer comes with me,” the sorcerer called out and Merlin's guards dragged him around and headed back towards the doors of the keep.

“Merlin!” Gwaine shouted and Percival tried valiantly to tear free of his guards grasp. Arthur had stopped stock still, his face pale.

“I'll be fine,” Merlin said quietly, balling his fingers into fists so they couldn't see his hands shaking. “I'm sure I'll see you later.”

The soldiers pushed him away before he could say any more and whilst he tried, they held him too tightly for him to look back. When they reached the top of the steps, the sorcerer smirked.

“Come along, time to meet your new master.”


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur didn't try to fight as the soldiers led them away down into the castle dungeons. Even though every bit of him was shouting at him to get free of their grasp and run to Merlin's defence, he thought it would be best, for now, to wait. Gwaine's efforts at the back of the group appeared fruitless.

Instead, Arthur let them push him down the steps, all the while taking note of exactly how many guards and soldiers he saw, exactly what passages they went down and which doors were guarded. The results didn't exactly make him feel hopeful. Asard's castle was well defended and it worried him. As far as they knew Asard had never been this powerful. He'd been clever enough to seize lands after Cenred's death, but never strong enough to raise an army. And where had he got the sorcerers from?

They were led down a long, spiralling staircase, lit on either side by torches. The staircase widened out at the bottom into a circular area, the walls lined with barred cells. There were six cells, one for each of them – including Merlin, because Arthur _had_ to believe they'd see him again – and the soldiers unfastened their manacles before pushing them each into their own cell.

The floor was covered in straw and a single, barred window, too high to reach, that let a small amount of daylight trickle in. There was a bucket in the corner and a single moth-eaten blanket by the door. As the door clanged shut behind him, Arthur let his hands ball into fists and then released them.

He was so _frustrated_. Angry because they should have been able to protect themselves, shouldn't have been so helpless. The power magic held … He sucked air in between his teeth and sat down in the corner.

They'd taken away his armour by the time he'd woken up in the cage and it was cold in the cell. He hugged his arms to himself, tucking his legs up and letting his head fall forward on his knees. He needed time to think, to process.

His moment of quiet was broken by a loud crashing sound and, raising his head, he saw Gwaine repeatedly throwing himself at the bars of his cell. The metal did not give, and Leon in the next cell over reached out to Gwaine.

“You're only going to hurt yourself--”

His words were drowned out as Percival gave a loud yell and bodily threw himself at the cell door. For a brief moment Arthur thought the bars would give, but they only shook and Percival gave a low grunt before sinking to the floor.

“Is now a good time to say the cells are reinforced with magic?” one of the guards asked, his mocking laugh echoing in the small space. “You won't be getting out any time soon.” The other soldiers with him laughed also and Arthur felt his hackles rise. Gwaine got on the attack first.

“You're cowards, all of you! In a fair fight--”

“You'd what,” the guard cut in. “Chop us to pieces? Take down every one of us with your bare hands?” There was more laughter. “Apologies, sir knight, but this isn't a fair fight. And we've already won.”

The guards left then, clearly believing the cells would hold their prisoners. The silence that fell over the dungeons was only broken by Gwaine's heavy breathing. After a moment, Arthur heard a shuffling behind him and turned to see Gwen, her hand reached out slightly, unsure of whether she should touch him. She took back her hand when she saw him looking.

“Arthur … are you alright?” she asked hesitantly.

Arthur just nodded. He couldn't explain to her, to any of them, why he was this way. It would lead to questions, questions he wasn't sure he was prepared to answer.

He felt … hollow. Like a great part of him had been carved out, leaving only blank space. The sensation had been there since the sorcerer had put the collar on Merlin. He didn't want to have to face it – had been trying to ignore it for the past weeks – that Merlin's magic was now part of him, almost to the same extent that it was for Merlin. He could feel the surge of power when Merlin cast a spell, the ache when Merlin overexerted himself, the fire running in his veins. Or at least, he had been able to feel it, until Merlin's magic was trapped by the collar.

He hadn't been comfortable with the touch of Merlin's magic since Camlann, but he hadn't realised how accustomed he had become to it, only for it now to be taken away.

“We need to get out of here,” Gwaine was saying, pacing his cell, a caged lion. “They could be doing anything to him!”

“Merlin has taken good care of himself in the past,” Leon pointed out.

“Yes, when he had _magic_ ,” Gwaine responded angrily.

“I'm sure he'll be fine, Gwaine,” Gwen said, but she sounded less than confident.

“You've seen Merlin try and fight – he couldn't hurt a fly--”

“Gwaine,” Arthur snapped, “sit down and shut up.”

There was a brief pause. From where Arthur was sitting, he had his back to the others and couldn't see their expressions. Then, Gwaine started off again.

“Yeah, because that'll do a world of good! What are you even doing, Arthur? You can't say you've given up. Merlin would _never_ give up on you and do you even realise that? No.”

“ _Gwaine_.” Arthur growled.

“I don't care if you want to sit there a nurse your pride, some of us are trying to do _something_!”

“Gwaine, I'm thinking,” Arthur said, his patience snapping. He hauled himself to his feet and stared down Gwaine across the dungeon. “Which is difficult to do when you won't be quiet. I may not be doing anything as of this instant, but I have come to the understanding that there is nothing any of us can do to help Merlin right now and you're simply wasting energy--” His rant was cut off at the sound of a door up the stairs opening. All five of them froze, listening intently.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the stairs and Arthur rushed to the door, pressing himself up against the bars. Feet came into view, then two soldiers, dragging a figure between them.

“Merlin!”

Gwen's gasp was the only sound as the soldiers opened the door to the final cell – the one next to Arthur's – and dumped Merlin's prone form inside.

Gwaine appeared to be keeping quiet, obviously realising there may be consequences for speaking out and Arthur – Arthur was just too angry to even think coherently. There was blood down the side of Merlin's face and his hair was damp with sweat. He was pale, even paler than usual and the damned collar round his throat stood out starkly against his skin.

Behind the guards, Lord Asard stepped down into the dungeons, smirking at the effect Merlin's appearance was having on his prisoners.

“Poor whelp passed out,” he said, “we were testing him you see, seeing how far that legendary power of his really goes. Seems we went too far.”

Arthur blocked him out. On his knees, reaching between the bars of his and Merlin's cells, trying to shake him awake.

“He'll come round soon enough, sire,” Asard drawled, his tone dripping with condescension.

Arthur took his hand back, gripping the bars of the cell in an attempt to hold back the flood of anger coursing through him. His vision went red at the edges and his knuckles were white. They couldn't … they couldn't do this.

“He'd be no use to us dead, of course. Think what a waste of power it would be.”

Arthur shot Asard a dark glare.

It took his a few moments more before, eventually, he was calm enough to uncurl his fingers from the bars and sit back, dropping his gaze from Asard.

Asard looked put out that he wasn't provoking a reaction from Arthur and spun on his heel, heading back up the stairs, the guards following him. Over on the other side of the dungeon, Arthur heard Gwaine let out a breath.

“If he'd stood there one minute more,” Gwaine said, sitting down against the back wall of his cell, hands balled into fists.

“Is Merlin ok?” Gwen asked quietly.

Arthur reached over once more, putting a hand on Merlin's shoulder.

“Come on, clotpole,” he murmured, so the others couldn't hear him. “Don't give up on me now.”

Merlin remained still and unresponsive.

Arthur looked back to Gwen and gave an apologetic shrug. “He's alive.”

“What did Asard mean?” Leon asked, “testing the limits of his power or something? What can they have done to him?”

“I don't want to think about it,” Arthur replied evenly. And it was true, the thought that they had been hurting Merlin whilst he was sat down here, helpless, was a bitter one.

“Must have been more than magic though,” Percival said, his voice low and angry. “Otherwise there wouldn't be any blood.”

Arthur felt sick.

“The big one hit me.” Merlin's groan made them all jump and Arthur was back at the bars in an instant.

“Merlin! Are you ok?” His heart was jumping, the anger having dissipated to be replaced by worry now.

“'m fine,” Merlin mumbled, pushing himself up, but only getting a short way off the floor before he collapsed back again. “Actually … might stay here … quite nice really.”

Arthur didn't like Merlin's incoherent mumbling, nor the way he seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes open.

“Merlin. _Mer_ lin. Stay awake you fool.”

His words seemed to have some effect because Merlin blinked at him, if a little dazedly, and a small crease of a frown appeared in the middle of his forehead.

“Arthur?”

“Yes, Merlin. It's me. Are you – Merlin. Merlin! Stay awake. That's an order.”

“O' course. _Sire_.”

The sarcasm on the last word gave Arthur some comfort. Merlin wouldn't be trading insults with him if he wasn't at least half-way alive. He hoped.

“Lovely accommodation they've given us,” Merlin said, rolling over onto his back with a small grunt. “Really like the décor.”

“Merlin …” Gwen had shuffled nearer, her eyes full of concern. “Merlin, are you alright?”

“What did they do to you?” Gwaine interrupted, his voice heavy with a threat of what he would to to the people responsible.

“I'm not entirely sure,” Merlin responded, but his voice was stronger now and clearer. “Something to do with the collar. There were three of them there – the sorcerers. The one who put the collar on me in the first place, then that short witch and the other one who looks like …” Merlin trailed off, clearly sensing now wasn't the best time to mention Morgana's name. Not that he needed to.

They didn't even know if she were dead or alive, Arthur thought grimly. The last they knew she had disappeared at Camlann, her forces defeated, her dragon fled. Arthur half-wondered if she was somehow playing a part in all this. Whether she was or not, she was hardly the most important matter of the moment.

“Did it hurt?” Arthur asked, not really wanting to say it aloud, but feeling he had to.

“Yes.”

Merlin's quiet admittance made Arthur scowl and thump his hand against the bars.

“There was nothing you could have done, Arthur,” Merlin pressed, clearly sensing Arthur's frustration. “And I'm still alive!” He tried for light-hearted, but it came out cracked and false.

“Next time we won't make it so easy,” Gwaine snarled from over the other side of the room.

“No, Gwaine,” Merlin replied, sounding tired. “I won't have you hurt to protect me.”

“Who said anything about getting hurt?” Gwaine responded, a glimmer of his old confidence in his voice. “We're getting out of here.”

Arthur looked at Merlin and shivered at the cold acceptance in his eyes. Whatever Merlin had been through – _was going through_ – whatever he had seen … he knew they wouldn't be escaping anytime soon.

* * *

Footfalls on the stairs roused Arthur from sleep. It was early in the morning if the light coming in through the tiny windows was anything to go by and he was surprised he had slept through the night. Water trickled down the wall at his back and he grimaced as he sat forward, his tunic stained with muck and grime. The others slept on in their cells and for the moment he decided not to waken them.

The footsteps had halted somewhere up the stairs and out of sight. Crawling to the front of his cell, Arthur listened intently. Hushed voices echoed down the stairs and Arthur strained to catch what they were saying.

“-- you can't just undermine me like this. They are _my_ prisoners and I will do with them as I wish.” That was Asard. He sounded angry.

“Correction. They are my master's prisoners, which you would be good to remember.” Arthur recognised the voice of the sorcerer who had put the collar around Merlin's neck. His voice was low and threatening.

“And until he arrives --”

“Which he will be soon. I believe your instructions were to make sure they were unharmed before my master saw them?”

“Are they hurt? Are any of them suffering fatal injuries?” Asard's voice was rising, it was easier to hear now. In the cell next to him, Arthur saw Gwen stir, her eyes flickering open. Arthur pressed a finger to his lips.

“In fact,” Asard continued, “the one who is nearest to death is the sorcerer who was put under your control, Edrick.”

So, the sorcerer was called Edrick. Arthur stored the information away for later.

“I have had instructions from my master about the warlock's care.” Arthur didn't like the way Edrick said the word care. It made his skin crawl.

“Oh, so it's fine for you to have your fun, but not me?!”

“Oh, so very violent, Asard,” Edrick chuckled. “I assure you, once my master arrives there will be ample opportunity--”

“Then why wait?” Asard snapped.

“My master has--”

“ _My master_ ,” Asard mimicked, his voice high and feminine. “So spineless, Edrick!”

“No, merely intelligent enough to respect my master's power,” Edrick responded smoothly, his tone heavy with the weight of what he implied.

There was a moment of silence and Arthur almost thought they were heading back up the stairs.

“Just one? Surely your master would benefit if their morale was broken a little?” Asard was almost pleading. Arthur shared a glance with Gwen.

“My master only cares for the king and the warlock. The rest? Cannon fodder.”

“Then why can't I--”

Asard was whining and Arthur had to force himself just to remain calm and listen. To hear someone so eager for violence, so desperate to exert his power … In the time since Camlann, when they had been forming allies across the kingdoms, it was easy to forget what some would do in their quest for power.

“Fine. One.”

It was like they were toys. Things to be played with and cast aside.

There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs once more, the echoing call of danger. Arthur reached out and squeezed Gwen's hand briefly. They had to stay strong.

Asard came into view first, a swagger and bounce to his step and a pleased smile on his face. Guards flanked him and Edrick followed at the back.

The others had woken up when Asard entered and almost immediately, Gwaine was on his feet, determined not to be caught defenceless. Merlin had scooted across his cell to be nearer to Arthur, fidgeting at the collar until Arthur shot him a look. It might have been Arthur's imagination, but it seemed every time Merlin touched the metal at his throat, a strange burning sensation awoke in Arthur's stomach. He put it down to simply not liking the fact Merlin was helpless. He didn't want to consider what else it might mean.

“This one,” Asard said, gesturing at Gwaine.

The guards converged on Gwaine's cell, their swords drawn threateningly. Before their bodies blocked his view though, Arthur saw a wild, almost feral grin on Gwaine's face.

The guards didn't stand a chance.

It didn't matter that it was four against one. Didn't matter that they were all armed and Gwaine only had his fists. Arthur had seen Gwaine take on six of Camelot's knights armed only with a short sword and he'd won. That was, until he'd decided he could give a confident, mocking bow in Arthur's direction and a new, young knight, Sir Dracan had leapt to his feet and floored Gwaine with ease.

But there was no doubt to Gwaine's skill. He'd even, on a few _rare_ occasions, beaten Arthur.

He sprang forward, not giving them a chance to back him too far into the cell. He disarmed the first soldier through the door and once he had a sword in his hand, made short work of the next two, tripping one up and sending the other crumpling to the floor by a vicious blow to the head. The last, seemed to have some skill as he waited until Gwaine was distracted, finishing off the first soldier, before leaping in to attack.

He didn't get far, however, as Percival reached through the bars and grabbed him from behind, bringing him smashing back against the bars of the cell and knocking him out. Gwaine spun on the spot at the noise and looked put out.

“I had him!” he protested.

A slow clap echoed through the dungeons. It was Edrick who was clapping, appearing highly amused at the guards' misfortune. Asard on the other hand was pale with anger.

“Very good, sir Gwaine,” Edrick said, stepping forward and brushing past Asard. “A good fight.”

Gwaine's expression darkened and he raised his sword. “I'd stay where you are,” he growled.

“Now, now,” Edrick said mockingly. “Let's not get angry. I can see you're a skilled fighter, what you could do with a talent like that, I wonder?”

Asard gave a short gasp of outrage, but Edrick silenced him with a flick of his hand.

“What say you, sir Gwaine? Your talents would be put to much better use in my master's army than languishing in a cell here.”

“I'm loyal to Arthur and to Camelot,” Gwaine responded, almost immediately. For once not a glimmer of his usual cockiness or flamboyancy present. Arthur felt a stir of gratitude to Gwaine. After all their arguments, all their disagreements, the way they bounced off each other like they couldn't stand each other … He wasn't sure he deserved his loyalty.

Edrick raised an eyebrow, assessing Gwaine. Whatever he was looking for, he seemed to find it because he gave a nod and then turned to leave.

“He must be punished for his impudence!” Asard said, his face going red with outrage. Arthur reassessed his opinion of the man and deemed him no longer a threat. Asard stood for nothing except himself and, without his men behind him, he was nothing. He was still a factor that stood in the way of their escape, but not the greatest threat they faced any more.

Edrick paused, his gaze travelling from the unconscious guards on the floor and lingering on Gwaine's mutinous expression. He smirked.

“And you'll be the one to take him on, Asard?”

Asard gaped at Edrick.

Gwaine took advantage of Asard's distraction and leapt forward, grabbing the back of Asard's tunic and laying his sword across Asard's throat. Asard spluttered, his face draining from red to white in a flash as he realised the predicament he was in. Arthur's heart was in his throat.

Edrick was still smirking.

“Talented and brave, your strength is undoubtable.”

“Let them go!” Gwaine said, cutting through Edrick. He kicked Asard in the back of the legs, making his knees buckle. “Or I'll kill him.”

The wild look in Gwaine's eyes meant Arthur couldn't work out if he was being serious. Then again, he realised, he didn't particularly care for Asard's sake either way.

Edrick folded his arms.

“What makes you think I care about his life?” Edrick said.

Gwaine scowled, pressing the blade more firmly against Asard's throat.

“His men are loyal. They won't be pleased to hear you've let him die. And no matter how much magic you've got, you can't take on an army.”

The tension was heavy in the air. Arthur could tell Gwaine was bluffing. They had no idea if Asard's men cared either way for their leader's safety, but whilst Gwaine had the upper hand he wasn't about to let go of it.

Edrick nodded smoothly and then took a step to the side, spreading his arm out as an indication Gwaine could head up the stairs.

“You're free to go. Asard is …” he coughed, “a great asset.”

Gwaine made a half step forward before hesitating. “What's the catch?”

“Catch? Oh, there is none!” Edrick's smile was sickening. “Just that the warlock and the king stay here.”

Gwaine grimaced and then, without even looking in Arthur and Merlin's direction, took the blade from Asard's throat, tossed it to the side and walked back into his cell.

“Gwaine, no! Go. All of you!” Merlin was at the door of his cell.

“Merlin's right. Get out whilst you can,” Arthur said firmly.

The other four remained resolutely in their cells.

“Loyalty is the most cursed trait of friends,” Edrick smirked. “People really should learn to run whilst they can.”

There was the sound of more footsteps on the stairs and guards came into view.

“My lord Asard, is all well?”

“I've been attacked!” Asard spat out, giving Edrick a murderous glare.

Guards poured into the room, their expressions startled as they saw their fallen comrades. Asard immediately went about shouting orders.

“Get them to the physician. And then take _him_ ,” he pointed violently at Gwaine, “upstairs. And fetch me some ale whilst I see him whipped.”

Edrick rolled his eyes, but didn't intervene as the guards followed Asard's orders. This time, Gwaine didn't fight the men, his expression blank as they dragged him from his cell and bound his hands with rough cord. Percival, however, threw himself at the bars of his cell once more.

“You can't hurt him!”

“Percy …” Gwaine said warningly and gave him a long look. Percival obviously saw something in the look because he quietened.

“There must be something we can do!” Gwen murmured desperately.

Arthur shook his head minutely to Gwen. Catching Gwaine gaze, he gave him a short nod. Their captors had made the stakes all too clear. If Gwaine thought he could handle it, then Arthur wouldn't intervene and risk someone else getting hurt. Gwaine was a knight of Camelot and had faced many a trial over the years. As much as it hurt Arthur to be so helpless, he had to let this one go.

Merlin, in the next cell over had his face up to the bars, his jaw set and his eyes burning with anger.

The guards hauled Gwaine out of the dungeon, the rest supporting their fellow soldiers up the stairs. Asard followed, pausing only to throw one last remark in Merlin's direction.

“See, sorcerer? You can't save any of them!”

He stormed out of the room, leaving only Edrick.

“Has that made things clear, Arthur Pendragon?” he asked. “My advice would be to learn who holds the power here, and learn quickly.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes, trying to get a gauge on Edrick. One moment he was capturing them and taking Merlin's magic, the next, offering them advice and almost, in a slimy, slippery kind of way that reminded Arthur of Agravaine, seeming like he was on their side.

He certainly wasn't on Asard's side. Arthur determined that they'd have to wait and find out who Edrick's elusive master was before they attempted an escape. They didn't know enough yet and rash action, as Gwaine had just proved, wasn't getting them anywhere.

He didn't responded to Edrick's comment, merely moved to the back of his cell once more to think over what they now knew. Edrick pursed his lips, glanced over the cells one more time and then swept from the dungeons.

* * *

Leon had been particularly quiet, Arthur had noticed. Neither shouting out to protect his friends nor offering his opinion on the events. Above all, except Gwen and Merlin, and perhaps Gaius, Arthur valued Leon's opinion. Leon had been steadfast and steady as a rock throughout the years, his loyalty to Camelot tested and remaining true and he'd been in Arthur's life longer than any of the others present there. He'd been an older brother to Arthur, seen him through training, warned him about any discontent among the knights, stood by his side on Arthur's first campaign, run into the fray at Arthur's side at Camlann … Leon knew so much, watching the world carefully and only intervening when he judged it best and his judgement was nearly always right.

Arthur wished he could speak to Leon now. Discuss what they'd seen of Asard's stronghold, plot out ideas of escape that would be far more coherent that any Gwaine had to offer and far more in depth than any Percival might suggest who preferred a more 'let them get near and then I'll knock them all to next week' approach.

But they couldn't speak now, at least not privately. With Gwen on one side and Merlin on the other and every single person in the dungeons within hearing distance, private conversations weren't going to be much of commonality.

He sighed to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. Gwen and Merlin. Merlin and Gwen. Had the guards known when they'd placed them in the cells, the torment it would cause Arthur to be stuck between the two of them?

“ _Because I love you_ …”

The memory of Camlann made the breath stick in Arthur's throat until he swallowed it down. Camalnn had … Camlann had changed him, changed them all. It was where he'd learned of Merlin's magic … and so much more.

The memory held a bitter sting that made him want to rant and rage and breakdown because all he'd ever known before that point had become a muddled, jumbled mess at Merlin's revelation. Sorcerers were evil. But Merlin was a sorcerer. Magic would bring Camelot to its knees. But Merlin had saved his life with magic. Merlin was his friend. But Merlin had lied to him since the day they'd met.

He'd wanted to talk to Merlin, properly, since that day. He'd wanted to get it all out, bring it all out in the open and somehow find a solution to it all so they could just fall back into their own pattern of easy banter and light-hearted friendship. A coward's wish. Somehow, however, he couldn't bring himself to face it all. His relationship with Merlin was deep, they were that connected, that whatever had gone on at Camlann – really, Arthur wasn't sure if he actually _knew_ – had fractured it all and something deep down, buried inside, had broken.

And he couldn't tell if that thing was something that was meant to be mended or if it was better now, like chains has come off and he only had to let destiny have its way.

Merlin had spoken a lot, whenever they had spoken, of destiny. Two sides of the same coin. Two halves of a whole. Meant to be. King Arthur and his warlock.

Arthur couldn't understand it. Couldn't comprehend it because how could he, Arthur, son of Uther, hater and persecutor of magic, be destined to stand by the side of the most powerful warlock in history?

There were too many questions, too much knowledge he didn't have and he didn't think that anyone would be able to bring him satisfactory answers, not Merlin, not Gwen, not Gaius, not Leon – although they'd all tried – just … not yet. He didn't think he was ready yet to try to understand it all. The pain was still too raw, the hurt still unhealed.

“ _Because I love you_ ...” And Merlin … Merlin loved him. Had admitted it just as Arthur was dying and then forged on right ahead, releasing his magic right into Arthur's soul and bringing him back from the brink of death, their souls bound forever in that momentous act.

Or perhaps … they already had been bound, and he hadn't wanted to see it.

The questions made Arthur's head hurt so he blocked them out, as he'd become so used to doing of late, and focused on the matter at hand.

The guards had still not returned with Gwaine. Percival was pacing angrily in his cell like he had been since the guards took Gwaine away. Leon appeared to be asleep and Gwen was quietly plaiting strands of straw together, her gaze unfocused and hollow. Merlin was fidgeting with his collar again.

He thought about everything they'd seen since arriving at Asard's castle. As far as he could work out, Asard clearly wasn't in charge, or at least, only in a figurehead position in front of the army. Edrick obviously held more power, but then he wasn't in charge, it was Edrick's master who still had yet to arrive. Was Edrick's master a sorcerer? Surely someone like Edrick, and the other sorcerers with him, wouldn't bow to a master without magic? Arthur wondered how someone that powerful, and he or she must be powerful to hold the allegiance of the other sorcerers, could have gone unnoticed to them in Camelot.

Unless it was Morgana. The thought was chilling, but somehow, didn't quite fit. The whole attack, their imprisonment, didn't seem personal enough for Morgana to have orchestrated it. Arthur couldn't help but believe that if Morgana was in charge, they would already be dead. Which was oddly comforting in a way. The endless battle for power with his half-sister had worn him thin. Every time he had seen her he couldn't help but see the Morgana he used to know. All their years of growing up together, knowing each other better than anyone else in the palace … and then all that had been taken away.

His father had attributed it to magic, blamed magic for Morgana's demise, twisting her and turning her to evil. But the more Arthur came to know and understand magic, especially since Merlin's revelation, he found it wasn't the magic that had changed Morgana, more his father's endless crusade against it. He almost pitied her, when he looked back, because he felt so guilty for not being there when she needed him.

The day passed in a slow blur, time ticking by like the steady drip of water. They hadn't had food or water and none of them found much to say. Arthur's thoughts grew tired and congealed and he found it difficult to process what was going on in front of him. Not that anything was.

It was late in the day, early evening light slanting through the grating above Arthur when he found his thoughts disturbed by the rustling in the next cell. Merlin was sat against the back wall, his eyes closed and his fingers around the collar, scratching at it and shifting it, a heavy frown across his forehead.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, shifting closer, “Merlin, what's wrong?”

A stupid question really. The empty feeling in his chest after Merlin's magic had been taken away was more than enough of an indication that things were not _right_. But Merlin's increased agitation worried Arthur, so much so that he stuck his arm through the bars and grabbed hold of Merlin's wrist, forcing him to stop worrying at the collar and focus.

Merlin looked up and Arthur was startled to see tears hanging along the bottom of his eyelashes.

“Merlin …”

“No, no, Arthur. Don't worry. It's nothing.”

“It doesn't look like nothing!” Arthur insisted, reaching out to touch the collar himself. Merlin jerked back from his touch.

“It just hurts a little, nothing bad!”

“Merlin, you've been pulling at it as if--”

Merlin pulled out of Arthur's grasp and in doing so the collar jolted and shifted lower on his neck. The skin underneath was red and raw.

“A _little_?” Arthur said grimly.

“Nothing I can't handle,” Merlin said, but his voice wavered.

“Why is it … It wasn't doing this before. What's happened? Was it what Edrick and the others did when we first arrived?”

“Who's Edrick?” Merlin asked.

“The sorcerer. I heard Asard talking to him before you woke up. Answer the question, though.”

Merlin chewed at his lower lip, his free hand tugging at his neckerchief to pull it up to hide the redness on his neck.

“It was … itching before we got here. It got stronger the nearer we got. I think whoever made the collar is here, or maybe it was formed here … I don't know.”

“Could it be Edrick?” Arthur asked, his anger towards the sorcerer growing with each new moment.

Merlin shook his head, if a little uncertainly. “It doesn't feel like his power.”

“Maybe Edrick's master then?”

Merlin shrugged. “Could be.” He tugged free of Arthur grip and slid away out of reach. “Don't worry about it, Arthur. I'll be fine.”

Arthur huffed in frustration, but gave up trying to reach for Merlin, the warlock having slipped out of his grasp. He felt so _helpless_. He'd failed and Merlin was paying the price.

Because surely these sorcerers must be attacking Camelot because of Camelot's ban on magic, because of the crimes his father had committed, the ones he himself hadn't prevented? He couldn't see another reason. Arthur's blindness to the true nature of magic, his hesitancy to remove the ban had now led to them trapped and defenceless, Merlin stripped of his power.

“You need to stop blaming yourself, Arthur,” Percival spoke up from across the dungeon. He had stopped pacing and was instead leaning against the wall on one side of his cell. Arthur's lips tightened because surely he wasn't _that_ easy to read. Then again, Percival had always had a knack of seeing what a person was going through. His own trials at the hands of Cenred's armies had taught him the troubles others faced.

“It wasn't your fault what happened in Camelot or what _is_ happening here,” Percival continued, his voice steady and calm. Arthur almost felt ashamed that the others were listening to this, but one look in Gwen and Leon's direction saw nothing but agreement with what Percival was saying. He didn't look at Merlin.

“No one here blames you,” Percival said firmly, his gaze pointed firmly at Merlin over Arthur's shoulder.

Arthur still didn't look at Merlin, because no matter what Percival said, he had failed Merlin and not just in the fight against the sorcerers … he'd failed Merlin for years. He just hadn't wanted to come to terms with it.

He gave Percival a small nod to say he valued what he'd said, but from the way Percival's eyes narrowed slightly, Arthur could tell he could see Arthur hadn't really taken it in.

Gwaine being thrown down the stairs distracted them, however, before Percival could take it further.

Gwaine was in bad shape. Numerous lash marks burned across his back and blood was running down from his forehead, congealing across his face in a sticky red wave.

“Gwaine!” One of the others shouted, Arthur wasn't sure which.

Gwaine cracked an eye open and gave a pained grin. “Oh … 'm still alive then …”

The guards followed him down, their faces alight with the thrill of the chase. They were brutish in appearance, two around the same height as Percival and equally as thick set. The third was thinner, wiry and had a pointed face which, at that moment, was twisted into a sneer. The one in the lead, one of the taller two, had an ugly scar down the side of his face and in one hand he held a whip which he flicked sharply over Gwaine's face.

“Get up.”

“Oi! Pick on someone your own size,” Percival snapped.

“Don't worry, Percy,” Gwaine croaked, “I got it covered.”

The whip cracked the air again and the second guard landed a brutal kick to Gwaine's exposed side. The force flipped Gwaine over and a yell of pain escaped him before he clamped his mouth shut. Arthur sighed at Gwaine's ever present determination to appear strong – not that he could say he himself didn't act the same – but in this case, he had to admit it had its advantages.

Seemingly spurred on by having let his weakness show, Gwaine scrambled to his feet, his fists already raised and his eyes sparking.

The guards laughed.

“You think you can take us on?” the scrawny one snorted.

“I'm surprised you think you can take _me_ on,” Gwaine replied, a lopsided grin on his face as he lunged forward.

Arthur was surprised Gwaine could even see with the amount of blood covering his face. Somehow, however, he took down the lead guard and wrestled his sword from him. The second was quick on his feet and grabbed the whip from where the first guard had dropped it. He gave Gwaine a brutal lashing across his back, causing Percival to roar out in anger.

Gwaine spun on the spot, catching the guard from where he had been behind Gwaine and sinking his sword through his chest.

The third, thinner guard took a step back as he seemed to assess the situation. Arthur didn't miss how his eyes darted towards the stairs, wondering if he could call to the other soldiers in time.

Gwaine spun the blade in his hand, his teeth bared slightly.

“Don't be a coward,” he said to the guard. “Take me on like a man!”

The guard's face darkened and he drew his sword from its sheath, a snarl on his lips.

Gwaine gave a smug grin.

“I was hoping you'd do that.”

Arthur wasn't sure who moved first, but he was sure the clang of blade on blade would bring the guards running.

Gwaine and the guard circled each other, attacking and parrying in turn. Arthur could hear Gwaine's laboured breathing and as he watched, he could tell Gwaine wasn't nearly as fast nor as precise as he usually was. His face was contorted in pain, his teeth gritted and, as the guard landed a blow on his ribs with the hilt of his sword, Gwaine let out a whine of pain. He staggered back a little, one hand reaching to gently touch the wounds on his back. He winced and as he turned, Arthur saw his shirt was tattered and torn, soaked with blood.

“Give up,” the guard said. “You're not going to win.”

Gwaine, fuelled by his pride, made another attack. Feinting left, he then swung forward at the guard's unprotected side. The guard dodge the blow and then, as Gwaine stumbled slightly, seized the advantage. He kicked out at Gwaine's knees and sent him crumpling. Arthur sucked a breath in between his teeth.

The guard took Gwaine by the back of the shirt and forcibly dragged him backwards into his cell. He snatched the blade from Gwaine's grip and threw an extra kick to the ribs before he left.

The guard didn't bother to move his comrades, instead he simply slammed the door to Gwaine's cell shut and swept from the room.

There was a grim silence for a moment, Percival shuffled across to reach gently to Gwaine.

They were startled, however, as Gwaine started to chuckle.

“Do you think he took a knock to the head?” Merlin asked quietly, but the next moment Arthur noticed something the others had missed and his own face broke into a smile. Typical, typical Gwaine.

Gwaine lifted his hand, a set of keys within his grip.

“Told you I had it covered,” he jibed in Percival's direction.

“Oh very good,” Percival said, rolling his eyes, “did you really have to get yourself beaten up?”

“Had to make it realistic!” Gwaine protested, but he coughed as he spoke and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

“Ok, Gwaine, shut up. Give Percival the keys and get us out of here,” Arthur ordered, already on his feet, bouncing with energy.

Percival made short work of getting out of the cell and then rushed to release the others. The second guard still had his sword in his belt and Percival snatched it up before offering it to Arthur. Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but Percival waved his hand.

“I'll need to help Gwaine,” he said, ignoring Gwaine feebly protesting that he could manage, and handed the sword to Arthur.

Gwen pulled Arthur into a brief hug as Percival released her from her cell and Arthur squeezed back.

“We're getting out of here,” she said firmly and Arthur nodded before turning to check on Merlin.

He was standing, a pained smile on his face and his hand near the collar, clearly fighting the urge to scratch at it.

Leon nodded to Arthur and after taking a breath, Arthur headed for the stairs.

Their footsteps were loud as they headed up, Arthur could sense Merlin at his back and as he looked back, he saw Percival supporting Gwaine's slumped form and Gwen and Leon bringing up the rear. They were standing very close which made Arthur frown before he focused on the matter at hand.

They paused at a corner, Arthur glancing round to see a group of guards at the far end of the corridor, playing cards.

“Just so you know,” Gwaine mumbled from further down the group, “their boss is arriving. That's why Asard stopped. They'll be here by now.”

Arthur exchanged a grim smile with Merlin and then jerked his head in the direction of the guards.

“Any ideas?” he said.

A smile smile touched Merlin's lips, perhaps as he remembered the times they'd done this before, either Arthur pushing Merlin into the path of the guards or Merlin repaying the favour.

“Actually,” Arthur said, jumping in before Merlin could get out any snarky comment he'd clearly been planning. “It had better be me. You'd probably fall over your own feet before you got anywhere near them.”

Merlin opened his mouth to retaliate, but Arthur was already moving.

He didn't imagine the muttered, “Prat” from behind him.

He grinned, feeling elated at the easy banter that had flowed between them. For a moment, it was like nothing had ever changed.

Arthur was light on his feet and the guards so immersed in their game that they didn't notice him till he was almost upon them.

He grabbed the nearest from behind, relieving of his sword with ease and tossing it backwards to where he knew the others had appeared.

The guards leapt in to attack him, but by that point Leon had joined his side and, the element of surprise on their side, they took down the guards in a matter of moments.

Merlin, Gwen and Percival snatched up swords, Gwaine was rapidly losing consciousness and Arthur wasn't sure if he even knew what was going on anymore.

The stairs leading up to the courtyard were relatively empty and the group made it to the courtyard door without any major problems.

Arthur looked back, words getting stuck in his throat because he didn't have a plan for this, didn't know what to say.

“Straight to the gates, sire,” Leon said firmly. “And stay alive.”

Arthur nodded, encompassing the group in the gesture.

“For the love …” For some reason his eyes met Merlin's in that moment. “For the love of Camelot.”

He kicked the door open and together they poured into the courtyard.

The daylight was for a moment blinding and in the time they took to adjust, the soldiers had spotted them.

The soldiers weren't fast enough to properly comprehend what was going on, and by the time they thought to give chase, Arthur and the others were already some way across the courtyard. Towards freedom.

When the guards did reach them, however, there were a large number and Arthur thought they might be overwhelmed. He pushed Percival past him, telling him to get Gwaine to safety and, with Leon at his side, sprung forward to take on the soldiers.

He lost track of his friends in the frenzy that ensued, knights, soldiers and guardsmen bearing down on them from every side. Panic stirred in his chest.  

Arthur spun around, taking down the soldier who had run up behind him. A little way away he saw Gwen and Merlin taking on a pair of soldiers between them and he ran to help them. As amusing as the sight of Merlin trying to wield a sword was, now really wasn't the time to stand back and laugh. That was for later, when all this was over and they could spend lazy afternoons on the training field … He shook his head, trying to focus on what was going on and swiftly dispatching the guard who came dangerously close to taking Merlin's head off. In the same moment, Gwen sent her attacker crumpling and Arthur pushed the pair of them back.

More soldiers were advancing from every side, the warning bell was tolling overhead.

“Gwen, take Merlin and go! Get to the others.” Arthur took a defensive stance, twirling the sword in his grip and eyeing up with soldier to take first.

“I'm not leaving you,” he heard Merlin say firmly.

“Now isn't the time for heroics, _Mer_ lin!”

“Well what are _you_ doing?!”

“ _Arthur_!” It was Gwen's warning shout that prevented Arthur from turning and trying to get it through Merlin's thick skull that he couldn't stay, he had to live. Instead he focused on what was going on in front of him in time to parry the blow from an attacking soldier and quickly switch to the attack, dispatching the man.

He grabbed hold of the fabric of Merlin's shirt and yanked him back behind him.

“I said _go_.”

“Arthur, Percival is holding an escape. Gwaine is unconscious, but he's safe now.” Leon was a welcome appearance at his side and Arthur quickly weighed up with options.

“Leon, get Guinevere and Merlin to safety. I'll hold off the attack.”

“What about you, Arthur?”

“I'll be fine.”

Touching as their concern was, it was a little wearing as both Gwen and Merlin broke into protest.

“I said GO!” Arthur roared, leaping forward on the attack once more, brutally cutting down the soldiers who were trying to block them off from the gates.

He heard a faint struggle behind him, but was relieved to find Leon had taken control.

The blood was pumping in his veins as he took down one after another of the soldiers. Sweat beaded his forehead and his vision swam. He desperately wondered why he hadn't eaten in the last days. Why had he been so stupid as to turn down the food?

A searing pain in his gut made him falter in his attack. His hand went to his side, at the empty feeling that was there, that had been there since Merlin's magic had been restrained. The place where the presence of Merlin's magic had been so strong … the place just where Mordred's blade had pierced his side. It was writhing in pain now.

He spun, a cold wash pouring down his spine because _Merlin_. Something must be hurting Merlin.

Gwen and Leon were stood just within the gates, their faces masks of horror. Percival was some way behind them, trying to keep a group of horses in control. Gwaine's limp form was hanging over one of the horses.

In front of Gwen and Leon, Merlin was on his knees, his head bowed, body shaking uncontrollably.

“ _Merlin_!”

Arthur was sprinting towards him, no longer caring about the advancing soldiers.

Only Merlin mattered.

“Merlin, Merlin, Merlin …” His hands were light over Merlin's hunched form, desperate because he should be able to do something, but he didn't know what.

“Arthur. Go … go it's _her_.”

The first thought into Arthur's head was Morgana, and his hands tightened into fists.

“I'm not leaving you.”

“Now who's being heroic?” Merlin's voice was strained, but Arthur didn't miss the faint chuckle.

“Come on, Merlin. We need to move.”

Leon and Percival flashed past, both running to hold the soldiers at bay. They wouldn't last long though, there were far too many.

“Can't. I'm stuck, she's using magic.”

Merlin reached up, his fingers gripping Arthur's wrist in crushing vice. “Go.”

“I'm not letting Morgana get you.”

“It's … not … Morgana.” A whine of pain scraped its way out of Merlin's throat.

“Who--” Arthur didn't get a chance to finish his question as he was blasted backwards away from Merlin. His sword flew from his hand and he flailed wildly for a moment, caught in free-fall, before he crashed painfully to the ground, the breath knocked out of him. His skull smacked the cobbles hard.

His head spun. He faintly heard Leon yelling his name.

In between his eyelashes he could see Merlin, his blue eyes wide, his lips parted in a shout Arthur couldn't hear. His ears were ringing, blood was rushing to his head.

“Gwen, come on!”

“No, Leon!”

White lights sparked in front of his eyes and something red swept into his vision.

“ _Ahreosan_.”

“Get _back_!”

There was a crash and a yell of fright. Arthur heard Gwen cry out, but it was as if from a long distance away, sounds and sights muddling and fading into black. Something sticky was running down the side of his head.

“Well, Arthur Pendragon. It's been far too long.”

It was a woman's voice, somewhere above him. He thought he recognised her.

“Leave him alone!” That was Merlin, his voice hoarse.

The woman laughed.

Chills ran down Arthur's spine. He knew who it was. He knew.

But it couldn't be.

“Arthur!” Merlin's shout was enough to keep him balanced on the brink of consciousness. He had to get to Merlin, had to stop …

“ _Slæpan_.”

Arthur's world dissolved into nothingness, one name on his mind.

Nimueh.


	3. Chapter 3

Merlin watched, his heart in his throat, as Nimueh stood over Arthur.

All these years, all this time and he'd defended Arthur at every turn, saved his life countless times – all to only sit by and watch, helpless as Nimueh would deliver the final blow.

However, the spell which spilled from her lips was simply a sleeping enchantment, Arthur falling back to the ground under the effect of it. Merlin forced himself up onto his knees, growling through the pain, and made to crawl over to Arthur.

Rough hands on his jacket caught him and dragged him back. Merlin looked up to find two burly and stone-faced guards holding him.

Did they really think he was going to run in this state?

Nimueh paused for a moment longer at Arthur's side before crossing the space between them, her eyes burning and her lips thin.

Merlin spared a glance for the gates. Nimueh's magic had sent the portcullis crashing down, Gwen and Leon only just making it out in time. As he watched, he thought he saw horses disappearing down the street.

They'd escaped. The thought gave him a brief moment of relief before Nimueh snatched his chin in an iron grip.

She was silent for a moment, her eyes narrowed and emotions Merlin couldn't quite define shifting behind her eyes.

“Look at you now,” she said. “The _great_ Emrys.”

Merlin jerked his head out of her grip, nauseated by memories of the time when he'd been weaker than her, when Arthur's life had rested in her hands.

Much like it did now.

“You're going to pay, you know, for what you did,” Nimueh continued

Merlin set his jaw, determined not to show fear.

“I said we were going to rule the world and we are, well, at least I am. You're just going to provide the means.”

She tilted her head on one side, and for the first time Merlin saw something not quite right. A small black mark on her neck, not unlike the druid triskelion, stood out starkly against the white of her skin.

“How are you alive?” he asked, because he _had_ killed her, back on the Isle of the Blessed. She had died at his hand.

“When you play with the power of life and death, Merlin, you become a slave to it. You altered the course of destiny, and you will come to learn that that is not a wise thing to do.”

She turned slightly, looking over to where Arthur was still lying on the cobbles. The corners of her mouth curled into a smirk.

“Don’t you dare hurt him,” Merlin growled, but he knew it was pointless, he was helpless to whatever Nimueh may choose to do.

Nimueh turned her head back, eyes flashing. She reached out, tearing Merlin's neckerchief from his neck and tossing it aside, the scrap of red fluttering forlornly to the ground. Her hand went to the collar at Merlin's neck, dragging him upwards as Merlin choked from the force of her fingers at his throat.

Her eyes burned with magic and Merlin jerked violently, bolts of power running down his spine. The pain made him arch his back, and he forced his eyes shut even as a yell tore itself from his throat. He felt Nimueh's grip tighten, and a moment later, he passed blissfully into unconsciousness.

* * *

There was a dull pounding in Merlin's temples when he awoke, but it was the stinging, burning pain of the collar around his neck that brought him out of sleeping. When he opened his eyes, he found himself in a cell once more. It wasn't the same one as before. It was larger, but the walls were all stone and a heavy wooden door faced him across the cell.

It was also dirtier. A layer of rotting straw was strewn across the floor, barely covering the build up of filth and muck. Barely any light made its way through the window and he guessed it must be nearly night. His stomach growled angrily in hunger.

He tried to push himself into a sitting position, but a spike of pain down his back made him think better of it. He didn't know what Nimueh had done to him through the collar, but the after effects certainly weren't short-lived.

Raising a hand to alleviate the weight of the collar at his neck, he found rough iron shackles around his wrists, the chains running to a peg on the wall. He sighed bitterly. Escape seemed more and more unlikely.

He guessed someone must have been watching him and waiting for him to wake because the next moment there was a clanking at the door, and he heard a key turn in the lock before the door swung open.

Nimueh swept in, tailed by two guards and at the rear, a rather sulky looking Asard who glared at Merlin before moving to a corner where he folded his arms over his chest and slouched back against the wall.

“Where's Arthur?” Merlin asked, resisting the urge to back up against the wall away from Nimueh.

“Safe and sleeping,” Nimueh responded. “Your feelings for him seem to have only grown since we last met, Emrys.”

“He's … he's my …” Merlin trailed off, unsure of how to phrase exactly what Arthur was to him. His emotions were too hard to put a name on.

“You king? Your destiny? Your _lover_?” Nimueh's smile was disturbing.

“No!” Merlin's reaction was too fast, and Nimueh's smile only widened.

“Can we get to the point?” Asard snapped from the corner.

Nimueh glanced back at him, her expression unreadable, but she did stand back, allowing the two guards to move forward.

They dragged him up, depositing him on his knees and then one of them pulled one of his arms up behind his back harshly, forcing him to stay upright. He grunted from the pressure, but kept his eyes on Nimueh as she stepped forward.

“Edrick said your power was limited, but I need to be sure exactly how much.” She reached out, her fingertips coming to rest lightly on the collar. Her eyes closed momentarily and when they reopened they were glowing gold.

Merlin tried to recoil backwards, but the tight hold of the guards behind him prevented any movement. Trapped, he could do nothing but try and steady his frantic breathing.

He could sense her magic, reaching out thick strands, wrapping around his own magic, tightening.

It was like his heart was being squeezed, his throat contracted, he had difficulty breathing and darkness crept in at the edge of his vision. His magic bucked and fought at the intrusion, but the collar kept it down.

Tears fell down his cheeks as the force of Nimueh's magic grew, coating his own magic in a layer of her own.

Just when he thought he couldn't bear it any longer, it stopped. Her magic still kept its hold on his, but it didn't grow any tighter.

She leaned close, the gold fading from her eyes.

“Oh. there's still so much there. Of course, it should be infinite, but strange what heartbreak can do. Soon, it'll all be mine.”

Merlin was having to fight so hard to breathe, he couldn't formulate a response.

A cough in the corner diverted Nimueh's attention for moment as Asard stepped forward.

“I believe we came to the agreement, Nimueh, that the warlock's power would be mine,” Asard said, sounding like a child denied a toy.

“A pity I won't be able to honour that agreement,” Nimueh responded, her grip on Merlin's collar tightening. “ _Abreotan_.”

The next moment, Merlin felt his magic being drawn upon, Nimueh's power dragging it from within him, out past the collar.

In the corner, Asard fell to the floor, choking as his windpipe shut.

His hand reached out for the help of his men, but a glare from Nimueh was enough to keep them in their place.

A moment later, Asard fell still and Nimueh released her hold on the collar.

Merlin felt broken, his magic swirling in torment at what it had been forced to do.

It wasn't the first time he'd killed someone, and he hadn't even liked Asard, but …

The guards released him and he fell back, nursing his arm, bruised from the guard's grip. Tears were still rolling down his cheeks.

“That was just a taste, Merlin,” Nimueh said, kicking over Asard's corpse, a sneer on her face. “Every enemy I have will soon fall by my hand, or rather, by yours.”

She left then, the guards following her, not bothering to remove Asard's body. As the door swung shut, Merlin scurried into the corner, trying to get as far away from the corpse as he could. He curled up on himself, closing his eyes and forcing himself to breathe normally.

There had to be a way out of this. There _had_ to be.

* * *

Night had taken hold and the cell was dark. He had to admit it was easier to bear. He couldn't see Asard's body. In the dark, he could hide.

He was broken out of his reverie, however, by the door opening and light flooding the cell as someone entered carrying a burning torch. He blinked, adjusting to the light and then paled, as he looked up at who had entered.

Morgana looked gaunt, her face hollowed by the flickering light of the torch and her eyes were dark. A thin, dark cloak hugged her neck and shoulders, and whilst she seemed, at first, much the same as she had at Camlann, there was a hollowness to her appearance, like something was missing.

He resisted the urge to back out of her reach. He hadn't assumed she would be here, had hoped that after Nimueh they wouldn't have to face another enemy. But luck hadn't been on their side since the beginning of all this.

“I didn't believe him,” she said. Her voice was rough and there was a sneer in her tone. “When Mordred told me. At first I didn't believe it was you. But then it was obvious.”

She narrowed her eyes and took a few steps closer.

Merlin bit his lip, a mixture of anger and regret bubbling up inside him because she had hurt them all so much, and had caused so much pain. And it was all his fault.

“My doom.” She snorted, distaste plain in her expression. “I was a fool to fear you.”

“Destinies change,” Merlin supplied.

“So you think,” Morgana said. “So you want to think. But you haven't realised yet, have you? Too arrogant to think that there are things in this world with more power than you, and in the end you won't be able to save him.”

Merlin stared up from where he was, fierce protectiveness burning up. “You won't hurt him.”

Morgana's expression soured and she reached up to pull aside her cape.

“Perhaps I won't.” A silver collar was stark against her skin and the sight of it had Merlin stepping back, a hand going to his neck.

“You're not the only one with pain, _Emrys_ ,” Morgana spat. “You're not the only one who has lost everything. You might think you changed our destinies, but we are stilled tied together in this.”

She strode to the door, her hands balled into fists.

“You changed the course of destiny at Camlann,” she continued, standing up straighter and letting the tension fall from her shoulders. “In saving Arthur's life you changed his destiny, changed your own, changed that of the knights', changed _mine_.”

“I just wanted to save him,” Merlin growled. “I'd seen the future and I couldn't … I couldn't let it happen.”

“Oh, yes,” Morgana scoffed. “And the great and mighty Emrys can just take what he wants.”

“Can't you see Arthur is a good king? That the future we have ahead of us … We can unite Albion.” Merlin was eager, the words he had spoken so often before, words of justification, duty, that what he was doing was _right_.

“And yet he still has to repeal the ban on magic. Even after you've told him and he knows everything you've done for him … he still won't accept you.” Morgana sneered at him, and Merlin faltered, her words cutting deep.

“You can change the future,” she continued, “but you can't change the past. Maybe you're not still my doom, but there is not even the slightest chance that in changing things you've saved him or your precious Camelot. I'll never forget what you did to me and destiny be damned, I will not rest until I have revenge.”

With that, she was gone.

 

**ooOOOoo**

 

Arthur came round, lying on a hard wooden floor. His skull still ached from where he'd hit the cobblestone and blood had dried down the side of his face in a stiff, itchy mess.

“Well, my king, I must admit I never thought I'd see you again.”

The voice above him sent his eyes flying open and he hastened to push himself up. Cold memories of a darkened cave and spiders crawling from the depths of the cavern spurred him to put up some form of defence. His father had feared her. She was a sorcerer. Sorcerers were dangerous.

But maybe they weren't? He couldn't be sure any more. Not since …

He forced back a wave of dizziness and blinked up at Nimueh. She hadn't changed. Pale skin, red lips, a dark chilling power hidden in her eyes.

“I must admit the same,” Arthur responded, his throat sore and scratchy. He glanced around and found himself in a wide open hall, a throne at one end and windows along either side, through which early morning light spilled onto the floor. Had he been unconscious the whole night?

He turned his attention back to Nimueh who had her head tilted on one side, studying him.

“You're meant to be dead,” he said, climbing wearily to his feet.

“So are you,” Nimueh responded, a smirk on her lips.

“What?” Arthur's head was still aching from his injury, his vision still weaving slightly from dizziness.

“Destiny is a strange thing,” Nimueh said, beginning to move from where she stood, steadily circling Arthur. Arthur found himself wishing for his sword. Or Merlin.

“I never would have guessed my destiny was to die at the hand of Emrys, but die I did.” Nimueh paused somewhere behind him, but Arthur refused to turn and look her in the eye. It was a test, he could tell, a challenge to see if she could make him flinch.

“Merlin … Merlin killed you.” Arthur knew this. Merlin had told him, had explained. It had been one of those rare times since Camlann that they'd actually had a proper conversation. Arthur still felt cold when he thought of it.

* * *

_“So … you're telling me you've killed people.” Arthur stood with his arms folded, not wanting to appear defensive, but at the same time, so unsure of how to act around Merlin, how to treat the man he thought he'd been friends with all this time._

_“You have too,” Merlin gave a small shrug. “But yes. Yes, I have. There was Sophia and Auflric, and Edwin Muirden, then Nimueh and … and there were more. Lots more.”_

_Arthur blinked, his lips sealing shut because he needed to process this and he didn't want to say the wrong thing. Didn't want to damage the relationship that might already be beyond repair._

_“But they had to be stopped, Arthur. I never wanted to. Sophia was going to kill you and Edwin was going to kill Gaius and Uther, and Nimueh--”_

_Arthur held up a hand and thankfully, Merlin stopped._

_He'd missed so much. He'd been so blind. And all the while Merlin had been saving his life over and over._

_“It's hard to see you as a killer,” he said eventually, and that, at least, he knew to be the truth._

_Merlin had told him he was called Emrys by the druids and those of the Old Religion, and in part, Arthur found it easier to see Emrys as the killer, the sorcerer. He didn't want that to change how he looked at Merlin._

_But they couldn't hide behind destiny anymore._

* * *

“Mordred killed you.” Nimueh was moving again, coming to stand in front of Arthur once more.

“No,” Arthur responded slowly, beginning to entertain the idea that she might simply be mad. Mad and very much not dead. It didn't make a wholly hopeful situation. “Merlin saved me.”

Nimueh gave a high, soft laugh that sent shivers running down Arthur's spine.

“Oh, Arthur. Did Merlin never tell you? Did he never say that he'd heard the prophecy? You were meant to die at Camlann, you _did_ die. Emrys thought he could play with the fabric of the world, the powers of life and death. Emrys is a fool.”

“Whether I died or not,” Arthur ground out, “You've taken my kingdom and have hurt my friends. I'm not one to let that pass easily.” Arthur had too many questions buzzing round his head, he was searching for too many answers he didn't have a hope of finding, so he simply focused on the matter at hand. Unwittingly, his thoughts turned to Merlin. Was he alright?

“Yes, apologies for that. It's a rather unfortunate business.” Nimueh was smirking.

Arthur frowned, a spiking headache not helping matters.

“Of course, you'll be free to go, soon enough,” Nimueh continued, beginning to circle him again. “Back to Camelot. The kingdom can be yours again and all your friends will be with you. You can carry on ruling like you always were.”

Arthur scoffed. “You really are mad.”

“No, princeling, madness was an attribute your father wielded with incredible accuracy,” she smirked as Arthur flinched at the mention of his father. “But he's dead now, of course. Which means any personal feelings I have for the matter are gone.”

Arthur ground his teeth, wishing she'd make sense.

“No, I am only here because you are, Arthur Pendragon. You were prophesied to die and as you did not, destiny brought me back to change that.”

“You just said I could go back to Camelot,” Arthur said, rounding on Nimueh as she stalked behind him once more. “And now you say you're going to kill me!”

Nimueh looked impassive for a moment, then she tilted her head on one side.

“There are many ways to kill a man, young king.”

The threat left Arthur more confused than ever, but he forced himself not to show it, instead, narrowing his eyes and taking a step forward.

“Where's Merlin? And Guinevere? And my knights? What have you done to them?”

Nimueh lifted her chin, her expression somewhat victorious as if Arthur had just proved something to her.

“I enjoyed this,” she said suddenly. “You are so like your mother.”

And with that, she spun on her heel, heading for the door, Arthur made to go after her, questions in his throat, but he suddenly felt a swirl of magic around him, stopping him short.

“Until tomorrow,” she said, passing through the doors at the far end of the hall and, with a wave of her hand, they slammed shut.

Arthur found himself able to move again and he staggered a little before rushing to the door.

Locked.

Stamping his foot in frustration, he looked around the room for another entrance or exit, but there was none. Looking out the window he discovered he was on the third floor, way above the courtyard below.

Resting his head against the glass, Arthur closed his eyes, biting his lip to suppress the plethora of emotions.

It seemed that even after all this time, Merlin was still holding things back.

He could only hope the idiot was still alive.

* * *

Guards arrived not long after Nimueh's departure, seizing him roughly and dragging him, despite his attempts against it, from the throne room.

They led him down long corridors until they reached a doorway into a seizable chamber. Sunlight poured through the windows and the furnishings were not so far removed from those of his own chambers back in Camelot.

Rich tapestries decorated the walls and the wood of the bed and table was finely polished. The guard left him there, shutting the door with a snap. Arthur heard it lock and then shuffling as the guards presumably took up watch duty.

There was food on the table, but even though his stomach protested, Arthur ignored it and dropped to sit down on the bed.

His thoughts were in turmoil. He couldn't be sure how much of what Nimueh had said was true. He couldn't quite work his head around the idea that he was meant to be dead, that all of this was only happening because Merlin had refused to let him go.

He squeezed his hands into fists, his nails digging into his palms.

It hurt too much to think about Merlin, about how he had stood by Arthur all these years. All that power and he'd chosen to be a servant.

A servant – a friend – who'd lied to Arthur all that time. Who'd known Arthur was prophesied to die and hadn't told him, who'd simply taken the laws of the world into his own hands and brought Arthur back.

So much power.

And there it was, the problem.

Nimueh's words had awoken something much deeper inside him. Not a sense of betrayal, or hurt. No, fear. Because he couldn't wrap his head around just how much power Merlin had. It was the years of listening to his father's propaganda which meant Arthur found himself torn between memories of being a child, terrified by the tales his father had told him, and the fact that this was Merlin. How could Arthur be afraid of _Merlin_?

He rubbed his knuckles against his forehead.

This was just Nimueh talking, plotting and scheming.

Merlin was in danger and Arthur needed to help him, because right now, Merlin wasn't powerful or strong, so Arthur had to be that for him.

Merlin who had fought so hard to keep Arthur alive. Who had given up everything.

Merlin who loved him.

Merlin deserved so much more.

He bit his lip, thinking of Guinevere, of Camelot, of the other knights. Belatedly, he hoped they were ok.

He swiftly began pacing, intending to banish all the difficult thoughts from his head. He needed to do something, perhaps plan an escape. His pacing brought him to the window and he looked down into the courtyard once more. Townspeople were moving there, their backs bent and their steps slow. A group of guards had amassed at the entrance to the dungeons, their movements were quick and sharp, their backs turned to the peasants as if trying to hide something.

Asard's kingdom was weak. Arthur could see that. He wondered how he had won Nimueh's favour. And how had Nimueh brought other sorcerers to her cause? Were they just as trapped as Merlin? Or had they joined Nimueh willingly?

It might be a weakness he could exploit.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Edrick, at that moment, entered.

Arthur stopped his pacing, letting his defences rise, his hands at his sides balling into fists. The mocking smile Edrick sent him had his hackles rising and he fought to control his anger. He couldn't fathom the man out and any attempt to try was just met with a swift change of character. It was obvious that Edrick was on Nimueh's side, but Arthur had learned that no one was as they seemed.

“Comfortable?” Edrick asked, surveying the room with a somewhat impressed glint in his eye. “I'm sure you're happier here than in your previous quarters.”

“Where's Merlin?” Arthur ground out.

“The sorcerer Emrys is detained,” Edrick replied, and it grated on Arthur's nerves that he wouldn't use Merlin's real name. “He killed Asard, naturally steps had to be taken.”

Arthur's head shot up at that and he narrowed his eyes speculatively. Merlin wouldn't … It had to be a trick.

“He is dangerous, you know. All that power isn't good for one man.”

Edrick's words got under Arthur's skin, much like Agravaine's had before, and he fought to keep his back straight. Merlin was loyal, always had been, always would be. Arthur just had to keep believing that.

“I'm not saying he's not loyal to you … but there are times when …” Edrick trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished and Arthur refused to give in and ask. It was a mind game, a way of driving a wedge between the two of them – not that there wasn't already a divide there – but Arthur wasn't prepared to give up what was left of their bond.

“Nimueh's a prime example,” Edrick continued, watching Arthur closely. “Too much power and no matter how loyal, one day they will just … _snap_.”

Lightning flashed across Arthur's vision, Camlann replaying before his eyes as Merlin stood upon the cliff and felled the soldiers one by one with nothing more than a wave of his hand.

“I know what you're trying to do,” he said suddenly. “And it won't work.” He felt angry, and afraid, because Edrick might just get under his defences.

Edrick raised his hands placatingly.

“I'm only trying to help.”

“Fat chance.”

There was a momentary stare off and then Edrick shrugged, moving to the table and sitting down.

“I guess I'll just make myself comfortable.”

That threw Arthur off and he stood awkwardly for a beat before going to the bed and throwing himself down, his back to Edrick.

“You may want to, Arthur,” Edrick said, “but you can't hide from the truth.”

He said no more, leaving Arthur to struggle with his own thoughts. The truth. Who even knew what that was any more? And he certainly wasn't about to accept Edrick's version of the truth.

Even though it was only midday, he felt tired, the events of the day, and the days before, both physically and emotionally draining. He refused to sleep with Edrick still in the room and instead cast about for something else to think about, anything to distract his thoughts.

“He lied to you.”

Edrick on the other hand seemed intent on making sure that didn't happen.

Arthur blew out angrily between his teeth.

There was a scrape of a chair, and as Arthur glance over his shoulder, he saw Edrick moving to the door.

“I'm clearly not going to get through to you tonight,” Edrick explained. “Sleep well, sire.”

He left, leaving Arthur confused and wrong-footed. Edrick was a sorcerer, and so couldn't be trusted. But Merlin was a sorcerer too.

What was he thinking? He'd known Merlin for years. _Years of lies_ , his mind traitorously reminded him. And he trusted him. Edrick had hurt Arthur and his friends and was now playing mind games. Arthur couldn't – _wouldn't_ – let him win.

* * *

 

_A man in red robes – the one who'd killed his father – stood on the cliffs. Arthur looked up, recognising him and feeling anger stir in his heart. The man had clearly allied with Morgana._

_That was until he started blasting back the saxons, lighting plummeting from the sky like rain, men falling all around Arthur with cries and twisted yells as their life-force was struck from them._

_Arthur couldn't understand it._

 

_“So … you're telling me you've killed people?”_

_His friend … his heart and soul with eyes burning gold. Every instinct Arthur had telling him to kill, kill or run, because sorcerers were dangerous. That was what he'd always known._

_It was Merlin. But not Merlin anymore. Just a man he'd thought he'd known with gold in his eyes and the power of the world in his hands._

 

Arthur woke with a start, shooting up in the bed and almost falling out of it. The sun was setting beyond the window now. Across the room, Edrick was lounging against a wall.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” His expression was smug, as if he knew exactly the dreams that had disturbed Arthur's sleep.

Arthur was panting, his hands shaking as he tried to get a hold of his emotions.

Camlann still burned before his eyes.

“We can make it better,” Edrick offered smoothly, “Take away your doubts, your worries. Surely you understand it's not right?”

“Get out,” Arthur spat.

Edrick saw through his defensive wall and smirked.

“Ok, I'll leave. Sweet dreams.”

The last chilling remark had Arthur jumping from the bed, afraid to sleep because of how his dreams might betray him.

Merlin was his friend. Merlin was loyal. Merlin would never never hurt him. He just had to hold onto that.

* * *

It went on for days. Nimueh and Edrick came to see him, alternating. Often they were just silent, other times they regaled him with tales of terrible things Merlin had supposedly done, some times they would offer him _assistance_. It made him sick to see how fast his resistance crumbled, how easily their words got under his skin.

The dreams didn't help either. Every night he saw horror after horror, waking with a shout to find Edrick or Nimueh in the room, their looks knowing, consoling, _pitying_.

If he could just see Merlin, he could reassure himself, but as the days went by, it became more and more difficult. He stopped sleeping, determined not to weaken himself further by letting his dreams betray him.

But his strength was fading. And he hated himself for it.

* * *

Late afternoon of the fifth day, Nimueh was in the room. Arthur was by the window, looking out over the castle with a desperate need to get some air, breathe and clear his head. He kept his back to Nimueh, not looking round.

“I've said it before, and I'll say it again, you are so much like your mother.”

Arthur's hands clenched into fists.

“Most people attribute your strength to Uther,” Nimueh continued. “I know better. Ygraine was always the strong one.”

Arthur didn't respond. Didn't trust himself to make the right response.

He was ragged, worn through, pushed to his limits, not physically, but mentally. He had realised, over the past few days, just how much he relied on other people. Guinevere, the knights, _Merlin_ … and without them, he found just how weak he was.

Nimueh sighed at his lack of response.

“You won't break will you?”

Arthur lifted his chin. “No.”

“Is he really worth so much? You don't know if you can trust him, why risk everything?”

“I know I trust you less,” Arthur's voice was gravelly from lack of use. “Lesser of two evils.”

The phrase had escaped him before he'd even really thought about it.

“And what if his evil were the greater? What if it wasn't just your life at stake, Arthur? What about the life of you queen? The lives of your knights? Your people?”

Arthur felt dread pool in his stomach.

“Would you give up their lives simply to defend your servant? A man who has lied to you and deceived you all these years.”

Arthur closed his eyes, a dull pounding of a headache making it hard to think.

Merlin. Emrys. Sorcerer. Servant. Friend. Foe.

He couldn't think clearly anymore, couldn't remember what was right and what was wrong. The spot in his gut where Merlin's magic was missing throbbed and images of Camelot flashed before his eyes: the citadel burning; people dying; his kingdom fallen and his people slain. He had a duty.

“What will you do to him?” Arthur asked quietly. “What will my giving him up mean? And how do I know you won't turn against Camelot anyway?”

“I won't hurt him,” Nimueh said. “No. I'll just make sure he'll never harm Camelot, never turn against you. It's a debt I owe your mother to keep you safe.”

“You tried to kill me,” Arthur said dully.

He wondered why he couldn't just accept that Merlin's word was enough, that he could trust Merlin never to turn against them. Merlin hadn't turned against them before, why should he now?

“An error.” Nimueh even sounded sincere.

Arthur slumped against the wall, despair weighing heavy on his shoulders because there was no easy choice.

For the briefest moment he wished, oh so very selfishly, that it could all go away. That servants would go back to being servants. Sorcerers would just be a foe beyond Camelot's walls. And whatever this bond was that he and Merlin shared, the smallest part of him wished it gone.

The pain in his abdomen spiked and behind him he heard Nimueh give a gasp of delight.

He spun on the spot, terror crawling up his spine at the look on Nimueh's face and shivers running across his skin from the faintest touch of magic.

“What have you … what have you done?” Something had gone wrong. He could tell. Nimueh had done something.

“Me?” Nimueh laughed. “Oh no. That was all you, young king.”

“What--?”

“Just remember that, will you? It was your fault. Your _choice_.” She laughed again, mockingly and chilling Arthur to the core. The door to the room banged open and soldiers entered. They moved across the room and restrained Arthur, dragging him with them as they followed after Nimueh.

They came to the throne room and Arthur's panic only increased as he saw Merlin on the floor, his clothing matted and filthy, looking hollow and lost.

He didn't know what he'd done, not exactly. He didn't understand what was going on.

But when he saw the fear in Merlin's gaze, he knew that everything had gone wrong.

And it was his fault.

 

**ooOOOoo**

 

Merlin had felt it. The stab in his gut. He knew, he could tell that somehow Arthur had done something. He felt broken. Torn.

He had been dragged from his cell to the throne room not moments before, and could only kneel there, Edrick a short way behind him, with growing trepidation until Nimueh arrived, Arthur with her looking confused and afraid.

Nimueh, on the other hand, looked victorious. She stopped close to Merlin and bent down to speak in a whisper, clearly making sure Arthur couldn't hear.

“He gave you up, Merlin. He wanted you gone. All you've done for him and he just wanted you gone.” Her words were like a knife.

“What--” The words died on Merlin's lips as Nimueh took a few steps back.

“The bond of your souls has been broken.” Nimueh was speaking loudly now. “Your life-force passes into my hands, Emrys.”

“No!” Arthur was struggling against his guards, but Nimueh paid him no attention. Merlin felt himself go sheet white, his eyes travelling to Arthur's in panic, because surely not … _surely not_ …

“I'm sorry.” Merlin saw Arthur's lips move, but everything had suddenly gone deathly silent.

Edrick stepped forward and unlocked the collar with a whispered spell. For the briefest of moments, Merlin's magic reared, delighting in its freedom. His eyes burned gold and a blossoming warmth spread through him, the momentary release of his power making him almost giddy.

“ _Bestelan anweald laedan agan. Brecan, asundrian_.”

The brute force of Nimueh's power hit him as the words spilled from her mouth. Dark magic rose and smothered him, burying down to his very core, tearing his own magic from inside of him.

He tried to fight it, determined not to lose his freedom again, but whatever Arthur had done rendered him helpless. Naïve, foolish Arthur.

Merlin should have told him about his magic long ago, maybe then they'd never have come to this.

A tear rolled down his cheek. His mouth opened, trying to make a sound, a noise, anything to break the deafening silence.

Faintly, very faintly, he thought he could hear Arthur yelling.

“ _Asœlan_.”

Darkness settled in his heart, coiling around his own magic and holding fast. Merlin fell forward onto his hands and knees, panting and choking.

Across from him, Nimueh was smiling, victorious.

“ _Forbærnan_.”

Her eyes glowed at the same time Merlin's did and around them, the room burst into flames.


	4. Chapter 4

The guards had forced him from the room as soon as the ritual was over. Arthur had fought for all he was worth, only just coming to terms with what he had just done.

He'd given Merlin's power over to Nimueh. He'd given up any chance of them ever being free again.

They took him to his room, pushing him through the door and locking it behind him before he had a chance to try and fight his way back out. The room was cold and dark and, half mad with rage and regret, Arthur set to tearing it apart. He upturned the table, broke a chair against the wall, destroyed the neat arrangement of the bed. Feathers and blankets billowed across the room.

Anger still boiled under his skin and he drove his hand into the wall, pain lancing across his knuckles which, when he brought them close, were stained with blood.

What had he done? _What had he done_?

His adrenaline left him in a wave and he sagged back against the wall, sinking to the floor. Angry tears welled up and he thumped the unforgiving marble underneath which only aggravated his knuckles more. Ragged sobs crawled out of his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut, childishly hoping that if he opened them, everything would be good again.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could he have been so foolish? More arrogant in believing that Nimueh would be merciful. He was King of Camelot, without a crown, without a kingdom and had just given up the last hope that any of them had as easily as one might give up a worn out pair of boots. It was laughable. _He_ was laughable.

And Merlin … Merlin deserved so much more than him. What had Arthur done to ever earn such loyalty, to ever earn such _love_?

Merlin would give up his life for Arthur. Without a doubt. And Arthur had neither acknowledged him nor thanked him for it.

When the choice had come to Arthur, he had hesitated, faltered and failed. He'd failed Merlin.

 _What had he done_?

* * *

By the time evening came, Arthur had withdrawn, ignoring his hunger and thirst. He gazed around the room, unseeing. Time ticked by without him really noticing and the only thing that kept him in the moment was the occasional spike of pain from his hand.

The place in his side, where Merlin's magic had been before all this had started, was empty and hollow, even more so than when Merlin had been wearing the collar. His hand absently went to his side, imagining for a moment he could feel the sting from where Mordred's blade had pierced him.

His mood soured even more when he remembered what Nimueh had said. Remembered how he shouldn't even be alive right now and how all of this was really his fault. Maybe Merlin would have been better off if Arthur actually _had_ died. He only seemed to bring misery to the warlock. Maybe Merlin would have been better off if he'd never come to Camelot at all, and that he and Arthur had never met.

Arthur would definitely be dead if that was the case.

His mind drifted to what Merlin had said in the time after the battle. After he'd saved Arthur's life.

“ _I_ couldn't _let you die, Arthur. You must understand that? We're … we're destined to be together. And I wouldn't survive without you. I can't be without you.”_

Well, he was without Arthur now. Without Arthur and without his magic. And it was Arthur's fault. He wondered if Merlin would still say the same thing now, after everything that had happened. How could Merlin possibly still forgive Arthur now? No one could be _that_ forgiving.

* * *

He was startled out of his reverie by the door opening with a bang. He brought his knees closer to his chest and balled his fists reflexively, not looking up at who was coming in in a private show of defiance.

“You get your hands off me!”

The voice made his head shoot up, eyes wide and a feeling of ice creeping through him. Morgana was stood in the doorway, wrenching her arm out of one of the guard's grasp.

She hadn't changed much since he last saw her. Her hair was its usual ragged mess and her dress looked in the same worn and ripped state it had always been in. She did look paler, however, her cheeks hollowed and her eyes appeared even darker than before when she turned her gaze on Arthur.

He wasn't sure what he expected. Perhaps to die? He was at her mercy here.

But then his gaze slipped to her neck, and the heavy, silver collar there.

 _Oh_.

Morgana stiffened and folded her arms. Despite the fact she was essentially powerless without her magic, although Arthur had been beaten by her one too many times in sword practices to think that entirely true, her eyes still burned with anger and her jaw tensed.

“Look at you,” she hissed, “so pitiful. You wouldn't think it would be so hard to kill you.”

Arthur got to his feet slowly, his muscles stiff from sitting cramped up for so long.

“Come on, Morgana.” He forced himself to look her in the eye, seeking out any trace that might be left of the Morgana he'd used to know. “We both know that I really didn't play a large part in managing to live.”

“Emrys.” Morgana spat the word, and it almost made Arthur flinch. It was too cold a reminder of the Merlin … the other Merlin who killed and fought, the sorcerer, the warlock, not the bumbling idiot of a manservant he'd thought he'd known.

“Do you really hate him so much?”

Morgana's eyes narrowed.

“Did he tell you what he did to me? Did he tell you how he lied to me and betrayed me, how he _poisoned_ me, when all along he was just like me!”

Arthur dropped her gaze, somehow feeling guilt for the actions Merlin had committed. Merlin had told him, haltingly and sounding so broken. Arthur hadn't known how to respond.

“Do you really hate me so much?” he asked instead. “What did I do wrong?”

“We've had this conversation a million times and yet the answer is always the same,” Morgana responded. She tilted up her chin and regarded Arthur stonily. “Even now you know what he is, you still haven't changed Camelot's laws.”

Arthur took a step closer, but she visibly stiffened so he stopped, caught, like his thoughts were, in a complete inability to move forward.

“You told me once that sometimes you have to do what you think is right and damn the consequences,” he said.

The look in her eyes told him she remembered, perhaps too vividly. That had been back before they'd lost her.

“And?” Morgana's voice was sharp.

Arthur gave a small, sad smile.

“Well, I guess you always were braver than I was,” he replied.

Morgana started to speak, her mouth half open. Then she snapped it shut, a sneer crossing her face.

“And you think that's enough to change me?” she asked, her tone ladled with derision.

Something dropped a little in Arthur. Then again, what had he expected?

He sighed and returned to his sitting position.

“I presume you came here for a reason? Or was it just to gloat?”

She seemed startled at his change of tone, but then folded her arms again and resumed her earlier stance.

“I'm going to help you get out,” she said, her eyes challenging him to speak out. “And then you're going to do something for me.”

Arthur blew between his teeth, realising for the first time how _desperate_ she looked. He remembered the feeling of emptiness when Merlin's magic had been cut off, remembered how much pain Merlin had been in...

She must be feeling the same thing.

The memory of the arrogant Sarrum, recounting in detail his imprisonment and torture of Morgana and Aithusa. His own father had locked her up. Merlin had betrayed her. And he himself hadn't done _anything_.

Desperation was wholly to be expected by this point.

“Nimueh...” His voice was rough. “Nimueh did this to you?” He gestured at the collar.

Morgana nodded. “She found me not long after Camlann. I was the test, to see if the collar would work on Emrys.”

Arthur nodded slowly.

“Why hasn't she bound your magic to her too then?”

Morgana hesitated, her skin going even paler if that were possible.

“You didn't just give up Merlin's magic when you made that oath,” she said. “You broke the bond of your souls. Nimueh couldn't take my magic because, unfortunately, the other half of my soul was unable to be in attendance.” Her last words had a harsh bite to them. It was a mixture of sarcasm and hurt, and Arthur didn't miss the tears in her eyes.

_Mordred._

He didn't comment on it, partially overwhelmed by what she had described. He'd broken the bond of his and Merlin's souls. The bond Merlin had given up his life for at Camlann.

Arthur bowed his head, another cold reminder of his failure stabbing him in his gut.

“Don't wallow in self pity, Arthur. And don't pity me either – it won't do anything and it won't heal the pain you've caused me.” Morgana took a breath. “But I am willing to help you.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes, all too aware that Morgana was possibly providing their only way out of this, and her price would be high.

“What will you want from us in return?”

“My freedom,” Morgana replied, her head held high.

Arthur took a moment, his eyes shut and his mouth twisted in a grimace.

“ _If_ I accept your help, and _if_ we escape … how can you know we'll defeat Nimueh? How can you know we'll keep our word?”

Morgana let out a hiss of breath and didn't answer.

“Come on, Morgana,” Arthur pressed. “This isn't like you. You wouldn't offer your help to us unless you were sure of a return.”

“How do you know what I'm like?” Morgana snapped. “How could you possibly understand what I've suffered? You can't. My motives are my own and if you're willing to look past whatever you've decided about me and about yourself, you'll see that I am offering you the _only_ opportunity you have.”

It was there again. The desperation. Arthur didn't know what to say, what to think, what to feel. He was so quickly finding out that no one stayed the same. You never really knew someone.

“What do I need to do?” he asked heavily.

There was a gleam in Morgana's eyes and for a brief moment he thought she might smile – not a malicious one that he had grown so used to seeing, but one of those real ones that came from a time so long ago it seemed like a dream.

“Nimueh has control of Emrys' magic and he won't be able to leave here now, unless there's something blocking her access.” She reached up and tapped the collar at her neck. “I know where you can find more of these. They'll block Nimueh's access and if you leave without her noticing, you'll be beyond her reach, she won't be able to stop him through the collar.”

“That's a big if,” Arthur pointed out.

“As if that ever stopped you,” Morgana responded with a snort.

“Where's Merlin? How will I know where to break him out from?”

“I can tell you that, too.” Morgana said. “But you need to give me your word, first.”

Arthur shifted where he was sat and bowed his head.

“I give you my word, we will free you, if we are ever able to.”

Morgana nodded, their gazes meeting and something passed between them which Arthur couldn't make out and had him longing so much for the days _before_ , when servants had been servants, not sorcerers, and the world had been easy to understand.

* * *

The room with the collars was dark and small, a single guard outside whom Arthur easily disarmed and knocked unconscious.

He slipped inside, relief blossoming as it seemed that, at least to this extent, Morgana had been telling him the truth when she had told him where to go and picked up the nearest collar. He turned to leave, not wanting to spend too much time and risk being caught, but even as he reached the door, he hesitated.

The collar was heavy in his hands, maybe because he knew the power it held. Strange though, because he couldn't feel a thing, and he remembered so clearly how Merlin had recoiled before when Edrick had first put the collar round his neck.

He debated just putting it back, not attempting to break Merlin out because Merlin probably didn't want to see him, and they'd just get caught anyway. He wasn't sure if he could stand any more pain, could force himself to see how much pain he was causing Merlin.

But then he straightened his spine, his resolve strengthening again. He was a Pendragon, they didn't shy away in the face of danger. And perhaps, if they could get out, if they could fix whatever Arthur had done wrong, then maybe it would be ok again.

He laughed at his own ridiculous optimism.

Having nowhere obvious to hide the collar, he held it behind his back and slipped quietly from the room. The corridor beyond was deserted and his years of hunting experience meant he could move almost silently as he hurried through the castle. The weight of the stolen sword in his hand was a comfort.

His blood was pumping loud in his ears and every breath, sharp and rough. Any moment he expected to be found. Surely someone would check on his rooms soon and discover his absence? Wistfully he contemplated how sneaking around castles didn't seem quite right without Merlin at his back.

There were guards almost everywhere, and sneaking through the corridors seemed almost impossible. However, whilst pausing in an alcove to wait for some guards to pass, he heard discontented mumblings. The soldiers were angry about Asard's death and Arthur wondered how much longer Nimueh's power of fear would hold over them.

The thought gave him some comfort. The idea that more and more people were turning against Nimueh was enough to bolster his confidence and he soon found himself silently slipping down the passage on the way to the cells. The directions Morgana had given him proved to be accurate and he let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Part of him had expected for it all to be a trap and that this would be some kind of sadistic fun on Morgana's part. But when he reached the last corridor and saw a set of four guards standing outside the cell, he knew she hadn't been lying.

The problem then presented itself of how to break Merlin out.

Hoping for the best, he simply rushed down the corridor, surprise on his side as he leapt upon the first guard, taking him down with ease, then swinging backwards to cut off a second who tried to take him from behind.

The corridor was narrow, thankfully, and the last two couldn't quite fit side by side to take him on at the same time. With that acting to his advantage and adrenaline thrumming through him, it didn't take him long to knock them both to the ground, unconscious.

He grabbed the keys from the belt of the last guard and rushed to the door, stuffing the key into the lock with shaking hands.

_Someone must have heard, someone must have heard … they'll be coming._

There was no light in the cell, night having fallen beyond the high, barred window, and the only illumination came from the corridor behind Arthur where the torches were burning.

Merlin was huddled in a corner, his knees brought up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. Manacles were fastened around his wrists and ankles. He appeared to be trembling.

Arthur crossed to him swiftly, thinking that if he hesitated now, he might never cross the space between them.

This what what he had done to Merlin.

Merlin looked up as Arthur knelt down in front of him. His eyes were unfocused and his cheeks deathly pale. Arthur, ashamed, averted his gaze and set to work unlocking the manacles around Merlin's ankles using the key he liberated from the guard's belt. He placed the collar behind him, not wanting Merlin to see it yet.

“Arthur?”

Merlin's voice was stronger than Arthur had expected and he looked up, pausing in his work to meet Merlin's gaze.

“Yes, Merlin. It's me.”

“You need to go. If she catches you here-”

“I'm not leaving without you,” Arthur replied firmly, giving the shackle a tug as the lock refused to give.

“I can't leave, Arthur! She's got my magic.”

“I know and …” Arthur trailed off, biting his lip. “I've got a way out.”

“What?”

Arthur didn't answer for a moment, unsure of how to present the idea. He couldn't really believe he was doing it to be honest, acting on Morgana's word alone and so much could go wrong.

He unfastened both the manacles on Merlin's ankles and then moved to unlock the ones on his wrists. However, as he went to unfasten the left one, Merlin placed his right hand over it, forcing Arthur to stop.

Arthur looked up, conscious of the intimacy in that moment that he didn't think either of them had felt in a long time. He swallowed and ducked his head.

“Do you trust me Merlin?”

_Stupid question, stupid, stupid question._

“Always.”

Arthur's head shot up again, inexplicable tears pricking the corners of his eyes because what had he done to gain such loyalty, such trust from Merlin? He didn't deserve it. He was beginning to think he probably never would.

He reached around and picked up the collar, holding it out with a shaking hand.

Merlin gave a sharp intake of breath and with painstaking slowness took the collar from Arthur's hand.

“Who … How did you know to get this?” He asked, looking at the collar with a mixture of repulsion and relief.

“Morgana,” Arthur replied, deciding the time for hesitancy was long gone.

Merlin jerked a little, but then with a surprisingly steady hand, reached up and fastened the collar round his neck.

He stilled, eyes shut and scrunched up as if he were in pain, and then let out a breath.

“That's better,” he sighed.

Arthur didn't want to ask the meaning behind Merlin's statement. It implied all too heavily just what he had been going through under Nimueh's control.

One of the guards in the corridor gave a groan and they both startled, Arthur jumping to unfasten the manacles and then help Merlin to his feet.

“We're getting out of here,” he said, commanding again, the sense of determination his father had long ago instilled in him. “And we're going to … I'm going to make this right.”

Another guard made sounds of waking and Merlin attempted a grin.

“Better get moving then?”

 

**ooOOOoo**

Merlin couldn't quite believe they'd escaped so easily as later that night they trekked through the forest, only the moonlight to guide their way.

Arthur refused to stop until they were a long way away from Asard's castle and he kept up a punishing pace. Merlin didn't complain, but he felt his strength waning, amplified by the weight of the collar round his neck. The pain was no better than before his magic had been stolen, but it was much less than when Nimueh had had control. His fear of Nimueh was enough to keep him moving.

Arthur's figure weaved in and out of the trees ahead of him and Merlin could tell he was getting ahead. Panic fluttered in his chest whenever he looked up and couldn't spot Arthur, only for it to ease a moment later as he stepped around a tree or Arthur came back into view.

It was nearly dawn when Arthur came to a stop in a clearing, turning back to Merlin and looking apologetic.

“I'm sorry, we should have stopped a while ago. I didn't realise--”

Merlin cut him off with a wave of a hand, putting his back against a tree and sliding down to the ground. “I'm fine. Just need to rest a bit.”

Arthur bit his lip, clearly knowing that that wasn't the case, but not feeling he could help.

It was obvious really, Merlin could see it in the way he stood, how he couldn't easily meet Merlin's eyes - Arthur blamed himself.

On Merlin's part he blamed Nimueh, she had had her plan and one way or another she would have seen it through, but part of him was still aching from the fact that Arthur had given him up.

“I didn't know,” Arthur blurted all of a sudden, “I didn't know what she would do. I didn't understand.”

“That's not your fault,” Merlin sighed, trying to show his conviction in that statement.

“Yes, it was!” Arthur replied, his shoulders tensed up. “I've known about your magic for months now. I should have … we should have …” He trailed off, shrugging. “You shouldn't have to live with my mistakes.”

Merlin ducked his head, not sure how to respond. Too much had gone wrong. They were fractured, literally, and everything they had known was changed.

“There's nothing we can do about it now,” he said, wrapping his arms around himself to ward off the chill that resting brought. The growing daylight promised that somewhere beyond the trees the sun was coming up, but in the shade, the cold of the night still held.

Arthur paced back and forth, clearly struggling with some internal argument. He paused at one point, looking over to Merlin and frowning.

“You're cold.”

“I'll be fine,” Merlin replied.

“No, you won't,” Arthur said stubbornly, walking over and dropping down next to Merlin. He pushed himself right up next to Merlin, the warmth of his body heat slowly beginning to seep into Merlin.

“We can't stay long,” he said, and Merlin forced himself to focus on Arthur's voice and not the feeling of Arthur's body pressed so near to his. “I just need the sun to rise. I may … I may have got a bit lost.”

“That's fine.” Merlin fiddled with the fraying sleeves of his jacket.

“If we walk fast we should make it to Camelot within a few days. And then …”

Arthur couldn't seem to finish.

They sat in silence for a while, and Merlin's mind drifted. He thought of the others, Gwen, Leon, Gwaine and Percival. He thought about what Nimueh might be doing, how she might be searching for them and felt relieved to know she couldn't be nearby or the collar would have alerted him.

The weight of the day, and everything else that had happened, caught up to him in a wave and he slumped where he sat, his head coming to rest on Arthur's shoulder.

Arthur startled, but didn't move much, and with the feeling that he might now actually be safe – or at least for a little while – Merlin went to sleep.

* * *

“Merlin. _Mer_ lin, come on. Wake up.”

He awoke to a harsh prod from Arthur in the ribs, sitting up with a start. After a beat, he worked out where he was and turned to Arthur, embarrassment colouring his cheeks as he realised he had fallen asleep on Arthur's shoulder.

Arthur coughed, red faintly tinging his cheeks before he abruptly got up.

“We need to be moving.”

With a hand from Arthur, Merlin got to his feet. The sun had risen properly by now and they kept it on their right shoulders as they set their course north for Camelot.

Merlin watched the tense line of Arthur's shoulders as they walked. Different things popped into his head of what he could say, feeble attempts to make up what they had lost, what might have been a ghost of their usual banter, but none of it made it past his lips.

At one point, a bend of the road came into view ahead of them and Arthur quickly changed their course. Nimueh's forces could travel fast by road and if they were spotted, there would be no escape.

The weren't walking as fast as they had been the previous night and Merlin was aware of Arthur looking back to check on him every once in awhile. He even offered to help Merlin walk, taking some of his weight, but Merlin was well aware Arthur had barely eaten more than he had in the past few days and they were both running on little fuel. Without his magic, if it came to a fight, Arthur was going to be the one who needed his strength.

They stopped briefly for a drink whenever they passed a stream and Arthur chanced upon a thicket of fruit bushes, heavy with the summer crop.

Not long after midday, Merlin paused in a clearing, something stirring in his heart as he took in the scene around him.

“What is it?” Arthur asked, turning when he realised Merlin was no longer behind him and jogging back, concern on his face.

“I know … I know where we are,” Merlin replied, gesturing at the clearing. “I've been here before, we're not far from Ealdor.”

Arthur paused and looked thoughtful.

“We could go there,” he suggested. “If you want?”

“No,” Merlin replied firmly, “it's too dangerous. Nimueh will know my mother's there.”

Arthur nodded, looking as disappointed as Merlin felt, and Merlin knew why. It was the memories of a different time. A better time, perhaps.

Ealdor had been a place where it no longer mattered that Arthur was a prince, it hadn't mattered in Ealdor that things like status stood between the two of them.

For a brief time, they had been equals.

Arthur huffed a sigh, as if realising something.

“Will wasn't the sorcerer, was he? It was you.”

Merlin looked at the ground, fidgeted and then met Arthur's gaze again.

“Yes,” he replied, with a shrug.

“Hmm.” Arthur looked torn. “You saved my life.”

“Yes.”

“You lied to me.”

Merlin's lips tightened, but he didn't respond. Part of him felt a little helpless in even trying to put up a defence any more.

And in some respects, the hurt went deep. Arthur still needed time to heal.

They just hadn't been given that time.

They carried on walking, leaving the prospect and vague hope of sanctuary in Ealdor behind them. Merlin matched Arthur's pace now as Arthur walked slower. He was lost in thought, his brow furrowed with questions Merlin wasn't sure he would be able to answer.

* * *

“How is she back?”

They had stopped for another drink at a stream and Arthur was standing a little way off, waiting for Merlin to finish. Merlin turned at Arthur's question and got up.

“I … well, I'm not sure, but I could feel something … _controlling_ her almost. She's not really alive, she's just been brought back to fulfil someone else's agenda.”

“Who?”

Merlin bit his lip, a frown creasing his forehead as he tried to remember the details from one of his magic books back in Camelot. He worked his toe in among the pine needles on the forest floor, a little uncertain of how Arthur might react to this.

“A long time ago I read something, I didn't really understand it, and when I spoke to Gaius he refused to talk about it, but they're called the _Forspillan_. I might be wrong, and I don't know much, but they have the power to control destiny.”

“Wait, but …” Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Nimueh told me it was my destiny to die at Camlann. Are you telling me she's back because you saved my life?”

Merlin nodded.

“That all of this …” Arthur gestured limply in Merlin's direction. “Is because I'm alive?”

Merlin nodded again, unsure of what to say.

Something closed off behind Arthur's eyes and his jaw clenched.

A beat later, however, he let out a breath, his shoulders slumping and his head bowing.

“Tell me, Merlin,” he asked dully, “was I worth it all?”

Merlin's mouth opened in a shocked response, but Arthur was turning away. He grabbed hold of Arthur's arm, and in that moment shockwaves ran between the pair, a spark almost like magic jolting between them.

“What did I tell you? What did I say to you after I saved you?” Merlin demanded.

Arthur raised his gaze, almost unwillingly.

“You told me you loved me.” He replied.

There was no emotion in his voice, no conflict, pain, or joy at that statement. It was just a fact. One Arthur had studied long and hard, but he still couldn't seem to get his head around.

Merlin could see uncertainty bubbling within Arthur as he gently pried his arm from Merlin's grip.

“I don't deserve you,” he murmured.

A lump swelled in Merlin's throat as Arthur turned to walk on.

He hesitated for a long moment, knowing that Arthur had lost faith in himself, as he had so many times before – just this time, Merlin wasn't sure if he could restore it.

**ooOOOoo**

 

Arthur saw movement through the trees ahead of them and stopped in his tracks. Predictably Merlin walked right into the back of him, and after a brief scuffle, Arthur managed to get his hand over Merlin's mouth.

“There's people.” His whisper was enough to make Merlin go still and he carefully removed his hand, far too conscious of how they were both pressed together.

He pulled Merlin behind a tree for cover and then glanced over, his hand going to the sword at his belt and drawing it silently.

A short distance away he could make out a curl of smoke from a campfire and the pale muted tones of tent canvases between trees. People were moving about and through the rapidly fading light, Arthur could make out they were all wearing cloaks, ragged and in faded colours – red, blue and brown. Travellers then or –

“Druids,” Merlin breathed.

Arthur could well make out the hope in Merlin's tone and he hoped that they weren't about to walk into some kind of trap. As far as they knew, the druids were a peaceful people, but Arthur's experiences with Ruadan and his ilk were enough to make him wary.

“Emrys.”

The voice from behind them made them both leap out of their skin, turning from where they'd been watching the camp to find one of the druids, a woman with soft brown hair and a gentle face was stood only a few meters away.

“Why can't you hear us?” Her question was directed at Merlin and he pressed his lips together, his hand going to the collar at his throat.

She moved forward quickly, her face going pale as she looked at the collar. Her hands were outreached, perhaps to unlock it, but Merlin raised a hand and leaned away.

“You can't take it off.”

“Emrys, I have magic. It is a simple thing--”

“You can't take it off,” Merlin repeated firmly.

The woman lowered her hand, bringing it to rest on Merlin's chest. Her eyes widened and her knees buckled underneath her.

Merlin grasped her arms to steady her.

“There is dark magic at work here, Emrys.”

“I know.”

They stared at each other for a few moments and Arthur half wondered if they were having some kind of mental conversation before Merlin gave a sad shake of his head.

“I can't hear you.”

The woman bowed her head. “How has this come to pass, Emrys?”

“Please …” Merlin sounded more than a little broken. “Call me Merlin.”

The woman nodded and then gestured for the camp behind them.

“Come and rest with us. You can tell us how this atrocity was committed and we will offer any aid you may require.”

“We don't even know your name,” Arthur stepped in quickly, his wariness still not going away.

“Emria,” the woman replied. “And have no fear, Arthur Pendragon. My people are peaceful, we will do you no harm. Emrys is destined to bring our people to freedom – we would not seek to hurt him.”

Merlin avoided Arthur's eyes at that and Arthur felt that punch in the gut as he realised again just how much he didn't know about Merlin.

“Come,” Emria said, taking Merlin's arm and leading him through the trees, Arthur falling in behind.

The druids turned to watch their approach. Mostly their expressions were apprehensive and Arthur noticed they were all focused on him. With a start, he realised he still had his sword drawn and quickly slid it back into his belt.

Merlin glanced back at the movement and something softened in his gaze, like a sign of approval.

The campfire was a welcoming blast of warmth after walking in the cooling twilight for so long and some druids hurried off, quickly returning with blankets, food and water-skins.

Emira offered them seats at the side of the fire, and the food that was pressed into their hands was gratefully received. Merlin tipped back and entire water-skin, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed it down. Arthur caught himself staring.

The food was simple, but Arthur found he would have traded any number of feasts for the coarse, flat bread and the hunks of cheese. It felt like he hadn't eaten in days.

After a while, he turned his attention to Emria who was sat patiently across the fire. Merlin was tearing small amounts off the last piece of bread in his hands but Arthur could tell he wasn't really focusing on what he was eating.

“Emrys--” Emria began, but then she caught herself. “Merlin. I know it may be difficult for you, but we must ask how this came about.”

Almost involuntarily, Merlin's gaze shot up to meet Arthur's and he swallowed.

Arthur felt cold. The druids practically worshipped Merlin, or at least, Emrys. And now his failings were to be displayed for all to see. He wondered what they would do to him.

“I presume you know Camelot was attacked,” Merlin said roughly.

“The city has not fared well since you were captured,” Emria responded grimly and Arthur felt another weight of guilt add to his rapidly growing pile.

“It was Asard … well he wasn't really behind it. Just a puppet. It was--” Merlin coughed harshly. “Nimueh. It was Nimueh.”

He looked down at his hands, appearing surprised that all the bread was gone and set to pulling at the fraying edges of the blanket round his shoulders.

Emira sucked in a breath. Other druids who had joined them by the fire gave similar noises of shock and worry.

“How?” asked one elderly man, his voice gravelly and low.

“It's my fault really,” Merlin said, giving a sour laugh. “I saved Arthur's life at Camlann. I went against the destiny that was foretold and … destiny didn't like that.”

“The _Forspillan_?” Emria asked and Merlin nodded glumly.

“Do you know much about them?” Arthur asked, wondering if anyone really did understand what they were fighting against.

“Their name is mentioned only in the darkest of legends,” Emira replied, her voice a hushed whisper. “Their powers are eternal. They … they build the future, control the destiny of so many. Of course, destiny is not always a surety … but in your case, Emrys and the Once and Future King has been foretold for many eons before your births and the power of your destiny is not easy to break.”

“I couldn't let him die.” Merlin's voice was a hushed murmur, barely audible over the crackle of the fire.

The druids fell silent, and in that moment, Arthur wanted nothing else but to wrap his arms around Merlin and give him the comfort he deserved. Merlin didn't deserve to feel this pain. He had acted out of love alone.

Something held him back, though. Because this pain was because of Arthur, and Arthur wasn't worth the sacrifice Merlin had made.

“It is possible only you in this generation, Emrys,” spoke a young man with bright green eyes, “would have the power to overcome the _Forspillan_.”

“Well, he doesn't any more!” Arthur said, his voice harsh. “Not now. Because of me.” He made to get up, not wanting the judgement that was soon to fall upon him. He couldn't live with this, betraying the only person who … He couldn't finish. He couldn't define exactly what it was that Merlin meant to him.

“Arthur!” Merlin's voice broke a little and it was enough to keep Arthur in his seat. Merlin's mouth was a tight line and he looked pained.

“Do I have to say it again? I don't blame you.”

Arthur didn't respond and Merlin sighed.

“You need to stop blaming yourself.” The statement was sharp, and it made Arthur jump. He looked away from Merlin.

“I feel something needs to be explained,” Emira said, looking between the two of them.

Merlin looked to Arthur, as if asking for his permission.

“Oh, go ahead,” Arthur snapped, not liking this darker side of himself that was taking hold, not liking the way he was lashing out because he wasn't in control anymore. “Tell them.”

Merlin bowed his head, looking hurt, and Arthur almost couldn't bear it any longer, but he stayed because if Uther had taught him anything it was to face up to his mistakes. He would bear their judgement, and then … He didn't want to finish that train of thought.

“Ever since Camlann, my magic has been … weaker. I used so much to heal Arthur and it never really repaired itself,” Merlin began haltingly, trying to meet Arthur's gaze, but Arthur stubbornly looked away. “When Asard's people attacked, they put me in a collar like this one. It was enough to restrain me. Then when Nimueh arrived, she was able to use my magic through the collar. I … she killed Asard with my magic and then … She performed a ritual, one that would break the bond of my soul and secure my magic to hers.”

There were cries of outrage among the druids and more than one shot to their feet. Magic crackled in the air with deadly intent.

“It cannot be!” Emira said, silencing the others with a wave of her hand. “For such a ritual to occur it requires the consent of the other half.”

All gazes turned on Arthur.

“Arthur …” Merlin was hesitant. “Arthur gave me up.”

It would have been better, Arthur decided, if they'd shouted, if they'd attacked him. A deadly silence settled over the group though, and Arthur's throat constricted.

“Yes.” He said finally. “I did.”

“But it was Nimueh--” Merlin tried.

“No, Merlin,” Arthur cut through. “Nimueh coerced me but … There was a moment, the briefest moment where I doubted you. And that fault lies entirely with me.”

Merlin's mouth snapped shut and he bowed his head.

On Arthur's part, he felt a momentary relief, which he knew he didn't deserve, that he had finally said it, finally made it clear that whilst Nimueh had tricked him, blackmailed him and lied … for that one crucial moment, Arthur had believed it. That moment had lost him Merlin.

“It is done now,” the elderly man said, a sorrowful resignation in his expression. “And our work now is to make right out of this wrong.”

“Thank you, Kahsan,” Emria nodded, nodding her agreement, but the sharp look she sent Arthur's way expressed what she really felt.

“Why did she go for Emrys, though?” asked the young druid, seeming the only person in the circle who wasn't focused on Arthur's betrayal. “If the _Forspillan_ brought her back to put destiny to rights, all she would have to do is kill Arthur. Why take Emrys' magic?”

There was a pause, as the druids looked at each other for an answer. Merlin's hand was fiddling with the collar at his throat.

“I killed her,” he said. “On the Isle of the Blessed. Her desire for revenge … I could feel it. Before Arthur gave me the collar, I could feel it burning inside of her, taking over.”

“Your power, or what remains of it, would be enough, combined with hers, to hold off the _Forspillan_ , at least for a while,” Emira said. “But if she killed Arthur, the _Forspillan_ would take her from the world.”

“So …” The realisation hit Arthur in a wave and hope of sorts blossomed inside of him. “If I were to die, she'd be gone? Merlin would be free?”

“Arthur--” Merlin's voice was a warning growl.

“No, Merlin! Don't you see? We finally have a choice. With her gone you can be free, you can be whole again.”

“I'll never be whole without you!”

Merlin's shout stunned Arthur into silence.

“Do you think I gave up so much at Camlann just so you could die a little later?” Merlin was angry, rising from his seat, eyes ablaze with sparks and his hands balled into fists. “Do you think I stuck by you all these years, hiding who I was just so in the end, you could die when I had no chance to save you? Because you can die now, and yes it may be a choice for you Arthur, but it won't be for me!”

“You didn't give me a choice at Camlann,” Arthur spat back, suddenly angry himself and he wasn't quite sure why. “What makes you think you had the right to decide then? To decide now?”

Merlin quietened, taking a breath.

“I didn't. I don't.” His lips were a thin, white line. “But don't even try to tell me you wouldn't do the same.”

Emira got to her feet swiftly.

“We will leave you now,” she said, “our presence is not helping the situation. But understand this, there are some things so much more powerful than destiny.”

With that, the druids dispersed, Emria and the old man walking off together in close conversation. The young man with the green eyes remained till last, starring in the fire seemingly lost in his own thoughts, but then he gave a short huff of laughter and got to his feet, not looking back as he went to a tent.

The tension of their previous conversation had dissipated somewhat, and Merlin tugged his blanket tighter around him, ducking his head.

“We need to talk,” Arthur said, poking the fire with a stick. “Talk properly.”

“It's what I've been trying to say ever since Camlann,” Merlin responded.

“Well, I wasn't ready,” Arthur said shortly. “Can you understand that? I wasn't ready to talk because …”

“Because you didn't know who I was anymore,” Merlin murmured.

Arthur gulped. “Ten years is a long time.”

“There never seemed to be a good moment to tell you.” Merlin scratched the back of his head, looking pained, like he'd thought about this topic many many times – too many – over the years.

Arthur hummed softly in agreement.

“Can we talk now?” he asked.

“We are talking …”

“Properly.”

Merlin was silent for a moment and Arthur wondered if any of the blanket would be left later at the rate that Merlin was fraying it.

“What do you want to know?” he asked eventually.

Arthur cast his mind back, over the years he had known Merlin, over everything he had ever questioned or begun to question since Camlann.

“Are you really the most powerful sorcerer in the world?” he asked, remembering the reverence the druids had treated Merlin with.

Merlin chuckled to himself. “I was.”

“But since Camlann...”

“I used up a lot of power in saving your life. I'm im-- Well, I think I'm still immortal, I don't know anymore. But I think I used up a few lifetimes in saving you and then … It just wasn't the same again.”

“Why did you save my life?”

The question seemed to catch Merlin off-guard a little, and he stared at Arthur helplessly.

“I mean,” Arthur ploughed on. “It's not like I'm a good person, I don't treat you well, I hadn't accepted you. And ever since you did all I've done has just hurt you more.”

“I... I--”

“I'm not worth it you see, Merlin. Everything you've done and I never gave you any credit. I'm not worth all the pain you've been through. And if this destiny is making you do these thing for me, then all that's gone now so why … why don't you just let me go? Because then you can have a life you deserve.”

Arthur had thought, that getting these words out would help, that somehow he would feel a burden lifting. Instead, it only felt like his heart was fracturing, and Merlin's broken expression didn't make anything better.

“I've told you, Arthur,” he said, and the anger from before was gone, replaced only with the deepest sincerity. “Time and again... It's not about having to save you. It's not about seeking credit. Destiny hasn't made me do anything. I chose because there's something more. There always was something more. I love you, Arthur. And that's with all your faults and flaws. No matter how many times I wake you up too early, or when you throw things at me, it doesn't matter. Because I believe you to be a better man and that you can become so much more than you are.”

Merlin was crying, tears glittering in the firelight. Arthur felt a lump rise in his throat.

“I love you, you prat. And I don't know what I have to say to make you see that.” Merlin choked the end of the sentence and couldn't meet Arthur's gaze.

Arthur blinked. He saw it now, so clearly in front of him, but found himself so desperately trying to deny it and he didn't know why.

It was simple.

But the words wouldn't make it out past his throat.

Merlin turned away, looking embarrassed. “So yeah … that's … that's it. That's all there is to say.”

Arthur couldn't speak. For a shining second, Merlin looked at him with hope in his eyes, and all Arthur would have to do would be to say those words. The moment hung, suspended in a heartbeat of weightlessness between rising and falling … But the moment passed, tumbling from the air and shattering like glass on a rock.

Merlin moved away, settling down next to the log he had been sitting on, and giving Arthur his back, all too clearly wanting to be alone.

It wasn't long before Arthur heard Merlin's breathing even out into a soft rise and fall, and Arthur could tell he had fallen asleep.

He himself, however, stayed awake, watching as the fire steadily dwindled, but not finding the motivation to move and get more wood. The camp had fallen silent around him and even the forest seemed to be holding its breath in the dark of the night.

His mind remained fixed on one thing, all other thoughts fading, but he still couldn't quite bring himself to face it. He …

He loved Merlin.

Their friendship over the years had grown to so much, so much more than just that. He would give his life for Merlin's without a thought; had dreamed of leaving Camelot, but only ever with Merlin by his side. It had broken him when Merlin had left his side before Camlann, and then to see Merlin once more, wreathed in fire and lightning on the cliff-top … his heart had almost stopped in sheer wonder. Nothing over the past years had been right without Merlin at his side.

That was perhaps why he had been torn so brutally at the reveal of Merlin's powers. Merlin had lied to him, there was no denying that, and perhaps it was the fault his father's, or something else beyond their control which meant he had never been able to see Merlin as he really was, until now.

How much had he missed?

How much had he _lost_?

“You can still get him back, you know.”

Arthur started, turning to find the young druid boy behind him. He had spoken softly, but Arthur still looked over to check he hadn't woken Merlin.

When he looked back, the man was smiling.

“You can still get him back.”

“What would you know about it?” Arthur asked sullenly. The druid came and sat down next to him, forcing Arthur to shift to make room on the log.

“I'm Omaer,” he said. He offered Arthur his hand, which, after a moment, Arthur took.

A strange shiver ran down his spine at the contact and he snatched his hand away. Omaer gave another soft laugh. Arthur began to wonder if he was eating something that put him in a perpetual state of laughter.

“You think you understand the whole picture, but you don't,” Omaer continued, looking away from Arthur now and into the fire. With a glow tinging his irises it burned higher again. Arthur didn't even blink. He realised that magic no longer scared him like it had before. He didn't know when the change had come about, but guessed that if he thought about it, it would be around the time Merlin revealed his own gifts.

“No one's explained it to you. Mainly because no one really knows. But your story doesn't end yet, Arthur Pendragon.” Omaer was looking serious and earnest, the laughter gone from his eyes.

“How do you know then? If no one else does?” Arthur asked, regarding Omaer a little suspiciously.

The smile was back on Omaer's face.

“I've seen things,” he said cryptically, which had Arthur humphing a laugh himself.

“And what have you seen?” he asked, deciding to play along.

“After the battle of Camlann, Emrys' power should never have been diminished. His power is eternal, tied to your soul and the fate of all Albion. The _Forspillan_ have no power against him. Except for one fact.”

Arthur felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, the guilt already rising up once again.

“You never truly accepted him. The bond between your souls was fractured at Camlann before Nimueh ever returned.”

“So it's still all my fault,” Arthur said, digging the heel of his boot into the earth and rubbing his hands across his face. “No change there.”

“But don't you see, Arthur?” Omaer pressed, excitement burning in his eyes. “The fault made is yours to correct, and more importantly, you have the power to correct it.”

Arthur pressed his lips together, determined not to let hope rise because he had been through too much to easily get his hopes up again.

“The bond you two share goes beyond the powers of this world, beyond the power of destiny. When he says he loves you, he means it. When you think the same, your thoughts are true.”

There was a secretive smile on Omaer's face and Arthur felt caught, looking over again at Merlin's sleeping form almost in desperation.

This one man …

The two of them against the rest of the world.

“I love him,” he said, his voice choked. “But I just … I can't seem to say it.”

“When you can,” Omaer promised. “When you can truly accept him, he accepts you, and together you stand, no spell of Nimueh's, not even the _Forspillan_ will stand in your way.”

Arthur let his head drop, his heart burning with hope because maybe, maybe, they could find a way out of this.

Omaer clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Rest, Sire,” he said. “Tomorrow is yours for the taking.”

He left then, leaving Arthur alone once more by the fire. He stared into its depths, the flames fast fading now Omaer had gone, and tried in vain to find the answer he wanted.

He didn't want false hope. He couldn't risk everything they had on some suggestions of a druid.

But, he conceded, it wasn't as if they had much now, and if there were even the barest chance of winning Merlin back … he would give everything.

“I love you,” he murmured to Merlin's sleeping form. “Just … I hope I find my chance to tell you.”

**ooOOOoo**

Across the fire, Merlin was fighting everything he had to carry on feigning sleep. He'd heard all of it, every word, and there were tears spilling down his cheeks at Arthur's words.

He didn't roll over, however, because something told him that Arthur still wasn't quite ready.

But their time would come.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry for the wait, but here it is! 
> 
> I had a bad case of writer's block shortly after the fest finished, then exams, and somehow I never go around to finishing this until recently. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the ending, and thank you very much again to bend_me_baby for the wonderful beta of this last chapter.

Merlin started awake to the sound of birdsong. Sunlight hung in the air between the trees and the forest felt fresh and alive. The last vapours of wood smoke blew over him from a long dead fire and he sat up, stretching and looking around him. For the first time in days, his spirits began to lift.

“Sleep well?” Arthur's voice startled him, and everything from the previous night came flooding back. It was hard to stop the smile that threatened to break forth when he saw Arthur. Remembering what Arthur had said … But Arthur looked tired and worn, and Merlin knew he still wasn't ready.

“Yes. You?”

Arthur shrugged in response. “Tree roots digging into my back. And … other stuff.”

Merlin didn't like the way Arthur's gaze drifted to the collar at his neck, but the promise of the new day was strong and he wasn't about to let it go.

“You always did complain unless I smoothed the whole clearing out for you before you lay down.” He attempted a grin.

Arthur frowned. “What's made you so cheery?”

“We escaped,” Merlin replied, gesturing around them. “It's a new day, the sun is shining.”

“And you’re still wearing one of those damned collars.” Arthur looked torn, half wanting to buy into Merlin's new found optimism and half recoiling from ever daring to get his hopes up again.

“We'll find a way out of this, Arthur,” Merlin said. Of course Arthur didn't know that Merlin had heard what Omaer had said the previous night. It had given Merlin hope and he only wanted it to share it with Arthur.

“You were …” Arthur looked awkward and unsure of himself. “You were upset last night. What's changed?”

Merlin bit his lip, not sure if he should reveal just yet that he had been awake.

“Arthur, I--”

A shout cut them off and they stood in sync. Arthur's hand went to his sword and Merlin scanned the area. A group of three druids, Omaer leading them, came running into the clearing, and for a moment Merlin feared the worst until he saw their smiles.

“We've found your friends, your knights and your queen,” Omaer said, coming up to Arthur and Merlin.

Arthur's expression brightened and Merlin felt a wash of relief. They hadn't known the others had escaped, couldn't have been sure they were safe.

“Where are they?”

“Emira and the others are bringing them here,” the druid explained. “They are all safe, sire.”

Arthur's frame sagged in visible relief.

“This bodes well, sire,” Omaer continued. “You will soon have you kingdom back.”

Arthur looked up sharply, but Omaer wasn't looking at him and instead was giving Merlin a rather knowing smile.

Merlin shifted where he stood and avoided both of their gazes.

“Merlin, did you--”

Again, they couldn't reach the end of their conversation.

“Arthur! Merlin!”

They spun around at the sound of Gwaine's voice and the next moment, Merlin was engulfed in a hug.

The four looked rather worse for wear. It seemed Gwaine's injuries hadn't properly healed and Percival had bruising over his face. Gwen had a nasty scratch under her right eye and her wrist was wrapped in what looked like part of Leon's shirt. Leon was limping slightly as he approached Arthur and went for a handshake before Arthur pulled him into a hug.

“What happened to you all?” Merlin asked, indicating their injuries.

“Nimeuh's forces pursued us for days,” Gwen said. “We had a couple of near misses, but nothing serious.”

“What about you?” Gwaine interrupted, eyeing the collar round Merlin's neck with distaste. “What happened?”

“We didn't think we'd see you again,” Leon said quietly.

Merlin and Arthur shared a glance, and seemed to decide that what had happened would stay between the two of them.

“We got lucky, really. I'm not sure what Nimueh had planned, but after a few days we learned the guards’ shifts and took our chance,” Merlin replied. Arthur's sharp look signalled that perhaps it wasn't a very good lie, and Gwaine narrowed his eyes speculatively.

“What about … the collar?” Gwen asked. “Surely there's someone here who can get it off you.”

Merlin fidgeted.

“It's not that simple,” he settled on eventually.

The druids who were with them appeared to have accepted Arthur and Merlin's lies and Omaer immediately turned to Gwen.

“It requires great amounts of power to remove the collar,” he said, and Merlin was thankful for his smooth ability to twist the truth. “No one here would be able to deal with the consequences of removing it.”

Arthur studiously avoided Merlin's gaze.

“Will you ever be able to get it off?” Percival asked.

Merlin shrugged and Arthur cut in.

“We're going back to Camelot first, then we'll think about the future.”

The group didn't seem happy with it, but at Merlin's feeble attempt at a smile, they nodded to Arthur's plan.

Merlin and Arthur shared a look, wondering what exactly the future would hold. Merlin wondered how they were going to actually do this, but now wasn't the time to discuss it.

As he looked away, he didn't miss the small crease in Gwen's forehead, and the way she frowned as she looked between the two of them.

 

**ooOOOoo**

 

The sight of Camelot rising over the ridge line made hope and warmth blossom in Arthur's chest. Part of him had expected never to see his city – his _home_ – again, and the sight of it there, within reach, was enough to bring a smile to his face.

Beside him, Merlin sucked in a breath, and it made Arthur ache to see faint tears in Merlin's eyes.

They needed to make this right. He needed to give Merlin back what he'd lost. For so many years, Merlin had never sought credit, but here and now, Merlin deserved his freedom and Arthur would fight for it. Arthur would fight for _him_.

It hadn't taken them long to reach Camelot, stopping only for a short rest the previous night, and the druids had supplied them with food and water. Omaer and Emira had accompanied them, the rest of the druids staying behind.

They could see guards patrolling along the battlements and Arthur watched carefully for a break.

“What are we actually going to do?” Leon said, Arthur noticed he too was watching the guards.

“They'll be on a schedule,” Arthur replied. “We need to wait for a break in the patrols and then head for the entrance to the armoury tunnel – hopefully it won't be guarded and then we'll be able to get weapons.”

“And then?”

Arthur scowled a little because it was easy to see how high the odds were stacked against them.

“They have sorcerers, Arthur. And Nimueh will be coming, she'll know we'll come here,” Merlin pointed out.

“We have Emira and Omaer,” Arthur said, “and the element of surprise. But …” He trailed off.

The fact was that there was very little chance of them coming out of this alive. There were only six of them, and two druids, and Nimueh had a whole army.

They'd pulled through before, he thought. They'd taken back Camelot when Morgana and Morgause had seized control, but back then, Merlin had had magic. It made a world of difference, and the hope that Arthur had unknowingly placed in Merlin was missing now. He couldn't find hope in himself, because he'd turned away the one thing that gave him hope.

He felt Merlin faintly brush his shoulder and turned to meet a knowing look. Merlin knew what was going through his mind, and yet the firm nod he gave Arthur showed nothing but confidence. Somehow, Merlin still thought they would pull through.

Perhaps it was Omaer's words – which he knew Merlin had heard – or perhaps Arthur's own words. He didn't know because neither of them had mentioned it. Arthur wondered if he should say it now, because they weren't sure how much longer either of them had left.

“But what?” Leon cut off Arthur's train of thought.

Sharing one last look with Merlin, Arthur squared his shoulders. “But nothing. We can do this, together. I have faith in you all. Once we get to the armoury, we'll split. Gwaine and Percival – take out the warning bell. Gwen and Leon I want you to go to the dungeons and release any of our people you find there. Emira, you go with them. Then, Omaer, Merlin and I will go to the throne room.”

“We'll join you there as soon as we can,” Gwen promised and Arthur nodded his thanks, turning his gaze once more to the battlements. “There's a patrol just gone through. As soon as the next one passes, we go.”

* * *

“This takes you back, doesn't it?” Merlin whispered, a little way behind Arthur, but similarly pressed up against a wall as they waited for a group of soldiers go past.

Arthur rolled his eyes and glanced back to check the others was still with them.

Breaking into his own castle was something he didn't want to feel accustomed to, but it was rapidly growing familiar.

“Sometimes I'd rather leave those memories behind,” Arthur replied, not really wanting to think about that desperate fight in the tunnels, trying to kill men who wouldn't die.

“Things were different back then,” Merlin said and there was a hint of regret in his tone.

Arthur could only hum in agreement.

They darted from the tunnel end, into a light and larger space and the secret door to the armoury was a short way ahead. No one was guarding it.

Checking for anyone who might be around, Arthur quickly dashed across the space and waited by the door as Omaer joined him. Merlin was a step behind and the others followed, keeping to the shadows and ducking to hide behind crates and barrels.

Omaer murmured a spell and Arthur heard the lock of the door click. He tried not to notice the wistful look on Merlin's face in the same moment.

The armoury was dark and also, thankfully, deserted. The weapons gleamed where they were hung in the racks and each member of the party headed to their weapon of choice. Arthur was just inspecting one of the swords in the rack that had a good balance when Merlin softly called him over.

As he rounded the rack that separated them, his heart lifted at the sight of Excalibur, lying gleaming in the centre of one of the racks. He wondered why on earth it was still here, on display in a clear sign of resistance to Nimueh's rule, but decided he didn't care, taking it up with a steady hand and swinging it around.

Every time he lifted up Excalibur, he was reminded of the story behind it. It sat easily in his hand and felt more like an extension of his arm than a tool to wield. He remembered that fateful afternoon when Merlin had bade him to pull it from the stone and not out of faith in himself, but faith in Merlin, he had done just that.

“We need to get going,” he called the others, and spurred on by the familiar weight of Excalibur, he left the armoury, boldness in his stride.

* * *

The castle was almost deserted, something which worried Arthur somewhat. But as they headed up a flight of stairs, he realised why. There was a certain lifelessness to the castle. Tapestries hung limp and faded. No light seemed to shine through the windows, and their footsteps echoed dismally with each step they took.

Magic was at work. What little they had seen of any servants were just bent heads, hurried movements and fear. Somehow, the sorcerers here didn't need soldiers to show their power – except out on the battlements – and the heavy silence of the corridors and halls was a heavy weight on Arthur's shoulders.

“Camelot is suffering,” Omaer murmured quietly as they waited, hidden in an alcove, for a group of maids to hurry past. “Not just the people, the whole city. You can feel it on the air.”

“We need to make this right,” Merlin said, and Arthur noticed he was looking pale.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Merlin closed his eyes for a moment, taking a breath.

“Nimueh's here. I can sense it.”

Arthur felt lost as to what to do. Surely when they went to face Nimueh it would all be for nothing? Merlin would be enslaved again, Arthur would be kept alive just so Nimueh could be. Camelot would fall.

There was a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder from Omaer.

“Now is not the time to doubt,” he said sincerely. “Now is the time to believe.”

But believe in what? Arthur bit his lip even as his gaze drifted to Merlin once more. The man was fidgeting with the collar even as he looked round the edge of the alcove to see if the coast was clear and in that moment, Arthur somehow knew that no matter what, he would never stop fighting. For Merlin. He believed in Merlin.

“Come on,” Merlin whispered, “they’re gone.” He spared Arthur an odd glance at the dazed expression on his face.

“Arthur?”

Omaer had darted ahead and Arthur seized his chance.

“Just … if I don’t get the chance to say it … I love you.” He met Merlin’s gaze with the last three words, needing him to know just how much Arthur meant that, needing him to realise that he would never, _ever_ let Merlin go, needing him to know that he loved him, and he should have said sooner.

Merlin stepped forwards a little, his lips parting slightly and - or was Arthur imagining it? - the smallest spark of gold lighting up his irises.

“I love you, too,” he murmured, taking Arthur’s hand in his own.

“Even after … even after everything?” Arthur asked weakly.

Merlin stepped even closer, pressing his forehead to Arthur’s and closing his eyes briefly.

“Always.”

A warmth filled Arthur’s belly and something inside him sparked in response to Merlin’s words. A small frown creased his forehead and he raised his hand to touch his left side. The place where Mordred had stabbed him.

“Merlin …” He let out a gasp, but Merlin silenced him with a kiss.

Arthur surged forward at the contact, bringing a hand up behind Merlin’s head and one around his waist while Merlin’s fingers dug into Arthur’s shirt. He ran his tongue along the line of Merlin’s lips and moaned into the kiss, wanting _more_ , when Merlin pushed him away.

“Later,” he promised, a promise on so many levels because how did they know there would even be a later?

Merlin gave a short huff of laughter, and a smile curled his lips.

“Come on, you prat. Let’s save the kingdom.”

 

**ooOOOoo**

 

They entered the throne room at a run, Arthur in the lead on Merlin’s left. Omaer was on Arthur’s left, his hand already raised to cast a spell.

Nimueh was waiting for them. Edrick was by her side and both looked eager, like hunters ready to strike their prey. The other sorcerers who had helped capture Camelot were stood a little way behind and in the back corner, Merlin could see Morgana, her expression withdrawn and cold.

“Such a pleasure that you could join us again,” Nimueh smirked, striding forward to where Arthur, Merlin and Omaer had slowed to a stop in their advance. “You have something of mine I’d like back, Pendragon.”

Arthur didn’t reply, only took a few more steps forward so he was within arms reach of Nimueh.

“I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed,” he said eventually.

Nimueh stared him down, a smirk still playing round her mouth. Merlin was on edge, aware that at any moment _something_ would happen and without magic, he was helpless to prevent it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Omaer edging nearer, gold already ringing his irises.

Nimueh reacted before Merlin even had a chance to shout a warning and Omaer was blasted back, knocked off his feet and crashing heavily into the wall behind him. Arthur spun around at the attack and couldn’t see Nimueh as she raised her hand to strike again.

“Arthur!” Merlin’s cry was a high pitched scream as he ran forwards and threw himself between Nimueh and Arthur.

Nimueh’s spell caught him full in the chest and, like Omaer, he was thrown back, colliding with Arthur. They landed in a heap on the floor.

Excalibur fell from Arthur’s grip and clattered to the floor some distance away.

Winded, it took them both some moments to realise what was going on as the other sorcerers with Nimueh had come forward, pulling them to their feet.

The dark eyed, bearded one dragged Merlin up, forcing him to kneel in front of Nimueh. The one who looked like Morgana - although the _real_ Morgana had stayed at the back of the room, her eyes dark - dragged Arthur some distance away and cast a binding spell which made Arthur freeze up, despite how much Merlin could tell he was struggling. The brutish looking one and the small girl, who had so easily defeated Percival, went for Omaer and dragged him from the room, closing the doors when they came back in.

Merlin didn’t even know if Omaer was still alive and he looked around in a panic, their prospects of success rapidly dwindling.

The short witch and Edrick looked on in amusement as Nimueh stepped in front of Merlin.

“Even after everything he’s done to you,” she said quietly, almost confused, “and you still protect him.”

Merlin was panting, a dull ache in his chest, and his eyes darted over to Arthur who was still fighting against his magical bonds.

“Even after I lied to him for years,” he replied calmly, “he still protects me.”

Nimueh considered him for a moment, and then reached for the clasp of the collar, holding Merlin still with a swirl of magic.

“He can’t protect you now,” she said.

The doors to the throne room burst open in a flash of light and Nimueh looked up, her fingers only inches away from the clasp of the collar.

Gwen, Leon, Gwaine, Percival, and Emria rushed in, Omaer on their heels, looking dazed but still determined. Several more battered looking knights of Camelot were behind them. They took the other sorcerers by surprise, and used that to their advantage.

The dark haired witch who had restrained Arthur was knocked back by a spell of Emira’s and Arthur was able to jump to his feet, immediately rushing to Excalibur which was lying nearby.

The others attacked with perfect cohesion and precision. Nimueh’s sorcerers didn’t have a chance to even cast spells as Arthur’s knights were upon them.

Edrick was the quickest to gather his wits and blasted Gwaine and Percival away from him, but he was soon overwhelmed by the others and cut down by Leon.

Nimueh watched until she was the only one left opposing the Camelot forces. An amused smirk played across her lips and cold chills ran down Merlin’s back.

He tried to back away from her, to do something, _anything_ , but her magic kept a firm hold of him as she reached forward and released the collar.

The jolt of power that burned through him knocked him away from Nimueh and he toppled backwards, his head hitting the floor hard and everything went dark momentarily.

When he opened his eyes, it was to see Nimueh, with her hand outstretched towards him and her eyes already glowing gold.

But a shout made her pause.

“Stop, Nimueh!”

Merlin scrambled to his knees, twisting to find Arthur standing a short way away holding the point of Excalibur to his own chest.

“I will do it,” Arthur continued, and his voice trembled ever so slightly. He wouldn’t meet Merlin’s gaze. “Because I know that if I go, so do you.”

Nimueh’s expression hardened and she drew back her hand.

“What? The mighty Arthur Pendragon would take his own life? No. I think not,” she sneered. “That’s not your destiny.”

“Oh, I think we’ve gone way beyond destiny now, Nimueh. And to ensure the safety of my friends, the one I love? I would. I care far, far more for them than I do myself.”

“Arthur--” Merlin tried to get to his feet, but Nimueh kicked him down, striding forwards so she was only a few steps from Arthur.

“I would die for them. For him.” Arthur raised his chin, but his hand went to his side where Mordred had stabbed him, perhaps feeling the pain of death that was soon to come again.

And Merlin was helpless.

“And I know he would do the same for me. I love him. With everything that I have, and everything I am.” Arthur’s lips pressed together in a thin line, and his gaze met Merlin’s. “I just hope it’s enough.”

And he swung the blade round and drove it through Nimeuh’s heart.

* * *

Had anyone asked Merlin, what had happened in the following moments, he would have been unable to answer.

The seconds seemed to stretch into an eternity and bright gold light fought with the the darkness across his vision.

He was only vaguely aware of Nimueh’s high scream as dark flames consumed her body and Arthur was forced to back away, shielding himself from the heat.

Then there was shouting, and someone caught hold of him, strong arms pulling him close, a familiar voice calling his name.

“ _Merlin_ _!"_

Gold and black still fought, but steadily, the light was burning through.

“ _Merlin_ _?"_

“Arthur…”

Sights and sounds returned to him, and in the same moment a glorious warmth poured through him. Magic tumbled over him like a waterfall, filling every part of him with bright, glorious gold, and through it all, he could see Arthur - golden, wonderful, beautifully _alive_ \- above him.

“I thought for a moment there I’d lost you,” Arthur said, his voice shaky.

Merlin managed a smile. “I said always didn’t I?”

As reality returned to Merlin, he was aware of a distinct hush in the throne room, and he didn’t miss the small crease of a frown on Arthur’s forehead.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, pushing himself up.

“There’s someone here to see you,” Arthur replied quietly.

Merlin scrambled to his feet. As he turned, his heart failed him.

“Father.”

“Merlin.”

Balinor was shrouded in slight shadow, neither fully there, nor fully gone.

Merlin took a few hesitant steps towards him.

“The _Forspillan_ demand Arthur’s life,” Balinor said, his voice heavy with sorrow.

“I can’t lose him,” Merlin responded, a real weight to his words because they couldn’t come so far, they couldn’t face so much, only to lose it all now.

“Everything has its time.”

“Then why not let our time be now?” Merlin demanded. “Why not let our future be now?” Tears were pricking at the corners of his eyes, but he stopped them from falling as Arthur stepped up next to him and took his hand.

“Merlin …”

“No. Arthur. No. If the _Forspillan_ want a life, they can take mine, take all of mine. Just leave me one to spend with you.”

He dared a glance in Arthur’s direction, unable to stop the tears now.

“Merlin, you are Emrys,” Balinor said quietly. “Eternal, immortal.”

Merlin gave a shaky laugh.

“Maybe in another lifetime.”

There was a pause, and then Balinor bowed his head. When he spoke again, it was not with his own voice, and he was already fading away. This voice was deeper, so deep the ground beneath them seemed to be trembling.

“... _ælíf ácwíne déaþlicnes ..._ ”

The ground _was_ shaking. Merlin fell back against Arthur as his father vanished and the whole world seemed to be shaking to its very core. A sudden rainstorm hammered at the windows and thunder boomed overhead.

Then, as suddenly as it had come, all was still and Merlin’s breathing sounded loud in the silence that followed.

His hand was still twined with Arthur’s, and he gave it a gentle squeeze.

Arthur squeezed back and Merlin fell into his embrace, the rest of the world fading away.

 

**ooOOOoo**

 

Arthur leaned against the wall by the window in his chambers, and looked out at the sun rising over the city. Part of him had believed he would never live to see this sight again.

He’d been awake for some time, driven from his bed by nightmarish dreams and unable to go back to sleep. Alone, he watched as the sky changed from grey, to dusky pink, to blue.

Guinevere had chosen to sleep in the chambers next door, and Arthur was grateful for her understanding. It was difficult now, to see the way ahead. Arthur had made his feelings for Merlin more than perfectly clear, but he didn’t want to hurt Gwen.

He had to concede that he had probably already done so.

Then there was Morgana. Arthur had made a promise and he was so utterly torn. Part of him so dearly wanted a truce with Morgana, a peaceful end to the bloodshed, but he wondered if he would ever truly see past all that she had done.

And Merlin.

Arthur closed his eyes and slowly raised his hand to his side where he could feel the pulse of Merlin’s magic as steadily as his own heartbeat.

Merlin who had given up his destiny, his immortality, his whole world. For Arthur.

His reverie was interrupted as the door burst open and with a flurry of cold air, Merlin appeared, a laden breakfast tray in his arms and a bright smile on his face. One of his bright red neckerchiefs was once again tied round his neck.

“I’ve never seen Cook so pleased to see me,” he said, putting the tray on the table and moving on to open the other curtains in the room. “There’s definitely enough for two there so don’t even try to get out of sharing.” He reached to stoke the fire, then after a glance back at Arthur, murmured a word and the flames leaped up, roaring around the logs. “And there’s a long list of people who want to see you, but I’m keeping them all away until you’ve had breakfast. Sire.” He added the last as an afterthought, accompanied by a sheepish grin.

Arthur was momentarily speechless.

“ _Mer_ lin.” Was his eventual response.

“Arthur.”

Arthur sighed a little, letting out a breath he had long been holding, and ducking his head a little. When he looked up, he met Merlin’s gaze.

“Thank you.”

Merlin blinked, and he too was quiet for a moment.

“Thank you, too.”

Arthur let a smile spread across his face, then he nodded.

“Breakfast sounds wonderful,” he said, crossing to the table where two plates were loaded with a rich fare. Arthur was suddenly very aware that he had only had stale bread and cheese for the last week and found his stomach grumbling.

Merlin grinned. “We both know how much you love your food, sire.”

“Impertinence, _Mer_ lin. What have we said about impertinence?”

Somehow, it was like nothing had changed.

* * *

Later that day, after meetings with councillors, nobles and peasants alike, Arthur entered Morgana’s rooms alone.

He hadn’t wanted to throw her in the dungeons, so instead had instructed Percival and Leon to give her her old chambers back and to keep a constant guard. Merlin had said she couldn’t perform magic with the collar on, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try to escape by other means. This was Morgana after all.

He was partly surprised, then, to find her still there. She was sat quietly at the table wearing a simple green robe and she had brushed her hair.

She looked so much like she had before, that for a moment Arthur wasn’t sure if he could do this, but then he steeled himself and entered the room, closing the door behind him.

Morgana didn’t look up immediately. She was fiddling with a comb on the table, her face twisted in a scowl.

“So,” she said eventually. “The great King Arthur and his sorcerer Emrys have reclaimed their kingdom.” There was derision in her tone. Arthur fought not to rise to it.

She looked up, scowling at Arthur’s continued silence.

“You owe me your lives, you know,” she said.

Arthur bowed his head. “I won’t deny it.”

“And will you uphold your promise?”

The desperation was back, evident in her tone and when Arthur met her gaze again, he could see it in her eyes.

“Do you believe I will?” Arthur asked steadily.

Morgana snorted. “Of course I don’t. You care for your precious life too much now. And anyway, you’ve always gone back on your promises. You’re a hypocrite and a--”

“ _Morgana_.” Arthur cut her off, not wanting to hear the undoubtable endless stream of hatred. He knew she had build up an idea of him over the years, much like he had built up an idea of her. They had both been wrong.

She faltered, but then set her jaw.

“I believe you would,” she said. “But _he_ won’t.”

“I have spoken to Merlin,” Arthur replied, “and he is willing to free you.”

 

_“She’s … I don’t know, Arthur. Is she too far gone?” Merlin fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve, sat across the table from Arthur, the breakfast plates cleared to one side._

_“I can’t say,” Arthur responded, and Merlin grimaced._

_“Her magic is twisted. It’s broken and … damaged. It needs to heal.”_

_“And it won’t do that with the collar on.”_

_“But Arthur, she hates us. Me especially. I did this to her, I drove her away.”_

_Arthur reached across the table and placed his hands over Merlin’s to still his fidgeting._

_“You’re stronger than her. She knows that.”_

_Merlin blinked a few times and then swallowed._

_“You want to give her another chance, don’t you?”_

_After a pause, Arthur nodded._

_“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Merlin continued, and as always, Arthur was awed to see the complete trust shining in Merlin’s expression. “There’s a place where she can go, a place where she can heal.”_

 

Morgana looked taken aback, and Arthur felt a bitter sting as he realised just how much she distrusted them now. Just how easily she expected the worst.

“But there are conditions. You will travel to the Isle of the Blessed, and there you will remain. You shall never enter Camelot again.”

“The throne is rightfully mine!” Morgana spat. “Camelot is mine!”

“No, Morgana. It is not.” Arthur was firm and his voice was steady.

Silence fell between the two of them and Arthur waited as slowly Morgana’s anger fell away. At last she moved, a hand rising to run her fingers against the collar at her throat.

“Fine. I accept.”

“Thank you,” Arthur said, nodding his head and quickly striding from the room.

* * *

He met with Guinevere just as evening was drawing in and the towers of Camelot were cast in a pearly pink in the setting sun.

She was waiting in one of the guest chambers, her back to the door and a hand playing with the embroidery at the neckline of her dress.

“Guinevere.”

She turned, something sorrowful in her expression, and nodded her head to acknowledge him.

“Arthur.”

She moved to the table and sat down, gesturing for Arthur to do the same. Arthur used the movement to cover the growing awkwardness, and as he sat, he reached for the jug of water, to pour them both a goblet.

“This is going to be difficult,” Gwen said, speaking before Arthur, and part of him was glad because, left in his hands, the conversation might not have progressed beyond mundane topics like the weather. “But I want you to promise me one thing before we begin.”

“Anything, of course,” Arthur replied.

“Tell the truth, Arthur. Don’t try to mollycoddle me or treat me like a fool. We both know I wouldn’t accept that, and anyway, you’re better than that.”

Arthur paused for a moment, and then nodded, acknowledging the fact that it was the least that Gwen deserved.

“You love him,” Gwen said. Arthur was partly taken aback at her abruptness, but partly not. This was the Guinevere he had grown to care for so much.

“I do,” Arthur responded, his voice a little hoarse. He reached for his goblet.

“More than you love me.” It was a statement, not a question, but Arthur still felt duty bound to respond.

“It’s not that simple--”

“Arthur, please. I asked you to tell the truth. It’s been as plain as day since the moment you two met. I guess I always knew that one day things would change.” She pressed her lips together and her expression was so pained that Arthur had to reach out. He covered her hands with his own.

“Guinevere …”

“No, Arthur. I understand. Of anything, I understand. We both know you weren’t my first love.”

Lancelot’s presence loomed at the table for a moment, but Arthur didn’t pull back. There could be no claiming the higher ground now. Finally, he truly understood how she had felt.

“And you needn’t worry about me hating Merlin or anything.” She gave a small laugh, and attempted a smile. “I’m pleased. Truly I am. For you both.”

“Gwen.” Arthur didn’t know what to say.

“There. That’s it. There’s nothing more to say, and I will leave Camelot and start a new life.”

“No! Well … no. I mean. As husband and wife, we didn’t really work, but you are a strong and wonderful queen, Guinevere. I would like to offer you the throne of Essetir. Although,” and here Arthur stumbled a little. “I don’t think it’s really mine to give, but those people need a queen, and I can think of no one better.”

Gwen had pulled her hands away at his proposal and they had flown to her mouth, her eyes wide in shock.

“Oh, _Arthur_!”

“If that’s not what you want,” Arthur said hurriedly.

“No, no,” Gwen replied, waving her hands to make him quiet. “No, I’m just … overwhelmed.”

“It’s the least you deserve,” Arthur said, meeting her gaze and trying to convey the regrets and sadness that he couldn’t find the words to explain.

Their evening passed quietly after that, their conversation turning to simpler things like the coming harvest and living conditions in the lower towns.

When at last the room had grown almost dark, Gwen got to her feet, brushing down her skirts as she did so.

“We should retire,” she said quietly, “but before that, I wanted to say …” She hesitated briefly, but then rushed on. “It was everything I could ever have dreamed of, to marry you, Arthur. You are a good, wise, and just man, and king. Above all, it has been an honour to be your queen.” She dipped in a small curtsey and offered a shy smile.

Once again, Arthur was rendered speechless, as Gwen moved towards the door, pausing to press a kiss into his hair.

“I hope you’re happy, Arthur,” she said, hesitating in the doorway long enough for Arthur to form a response.

“You too,” he said.

Gwen smiled, bowed her head a little, and then was gone.

* * *

“We’ve received a messenger from Nemeth, sire,” Merlin said. His propriety was once again forgotten as he entered Arthur’s chambers without knocking. “Gaius is safe and well, and Rodor and Mithian say they’re glad to know we survived.”

Arthur looked up from the damage reports he’d been reading and gave a small smile. It would have been one worry too many had Gaius been wound up in all this. Fortunately, he’d travelled to Nemeth not long before the attack to help cure a bout of the sweating sickness.

“Apparently Rodor has had a hard time keeping Gaius in Nemeth,” Merlin continued with a wry smile. “He was quite insistent to come to our aid.”

“Send our thanks to Rodor,” Arthur replied, looking back to the reports which were blurring a little under growing fatigue.

It was properly dark now, the candles lit around the chambers and a fire roaring in the grate. His conversations with Gwen and Morgana had taken a lot out of him and the prospect of a long sleep was seeming more and more appealing.

“How are the knights?” he asked, leaning back in his seat and giving the reports up as a bad job. “Is everyone recovering?”

“They’re all well, sire,” Merlin replied, going about the chambers in his usual manner, drawing the curtains, stacking the dinner dishes to one side, and tidying Arthur’s belongings. “The ones who were kept prisoner here weren’t too badly treated, and Percival’s taking care of Gwaine.”

“Good,” Arthur replied, rubbing his hands over his tired eyes, unable to hold back a yawn.

“You should sleep, sire.”

Arthur looked at Merlin intently for a few moments, noticing how he was fidgeting about and not really _doing_ anything.

“What’s wrong?”

Merlin started a little and chewed at his lower lip.

“It’s just … well. I don’t really know how to act, anymore. This morning was normal, in fact, everything was just _normal_ , but … it’s like nothing has changed, sire.”

Arthur got up from his chair and crossed the space to gently put his hand on Merlin’s arm.

“Merlin …”

 _Everything_ had changed. He just wasn’t sure how to show it.

“My lord?”

Arthur tightened his grip a little and raised his brows in invitation.

“Arthur …”

“We’ll work this out, Merlin. It will just … take time.”

Merlin gave a small smile. “We’ve got time.” There was a real weight to his words, and Arthur felt a lump rising in his throat.

“You can call me Arthur. How about we start with that?”

Merlin nodded, his smile widening.

“I could just stick with dollophead, if you wanted?”

“Well, impertinence has never seemed to trouble you, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur replied, cuffing Merlin lightly over the head.

“I’ll leave you to sleep, sire … Arthur.”

Merlin was at the door before Arthur found his voice.

“Merlin …” He hesitated, swallowed and then reached out a hand. “Stay with me?”

Merlin’s smile was full of shy joy.

“Always.”

 

**ooOOOoo**

 

Morgana stood in the middle of the throne room, Arthur sat on his throne in front of her and Merlin stood down from the dias, slightly to the left.

He could feel Morgana’s eyes on him, but was determinedly watching Arthur. He was still desperately nervous for Arthur’s sake that Morgana would seize the opportunity as soon as her magic was released to fulfil her promise she had made to Merlin in the cell.

He comforted himself, knowing he could easily overwhelm Morgana if he had to … and he trusted Arthur. Whatever Arthur had seen in Morgana had convinced him to give her another chance, and if it was good enough for Arthur, it was good enough for Merlin.

He hoped his plan to send Morgana to the Isle of the Blessed was a good one. It was where the priestesses of the Old Religion had always resided, and he hoped the island would welcome her, heal the damage that Nimueh’s collar had done to Morgana’s magic.

His own had been unstable for a little while, and he was - or at least, _had been_ \- Emrys. Morgana had worn the collar for much longer, cut off from something that made her whole. Merlin knew how that felt, and he wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

But above all, he longed for a chance to make things right. He knew it was his fault that Morgana ended up this way, and if they had a chance to bring back something of the person who had once wanted to help Camelot, not destroy it, he would try. For Arthur’s sake, if nothing else.

The knights and Gwen had gathered, no one else permitted in the throne room. Gwen had declined Arthur when he suggested she sit on one of the thrones and Merlin had felt a stab of guilt.

“Do you still agree to the the terms?” Arthur asked, rising from his throne and descending the steps. His gaze was steady and his voice was firm. When Merlin turned to look at Morgana, she still looked defiant, however.

“I have little choice,” she replied.

Arthur looked a little pained, but he turned to Merlin anyway.

“Merlin, if you would.”

All the attention in the room was suddenly focused on Merlin and he swallowed, trying to hide his nerves as he crossed the space to stand in front of Morgana.

The hatred was plain in her expression. She glared him down, full of righteous anger and for a moment, he wasn’t sure he would be able to go through with it.

“Before I do this,” he said, quietly enough so that no one else would hear. “You said to me once that maybe one day people will come to see magic as a force for good.”

Morgana’s lips thinned.

“And?”

“That’s all I’m saying. I’m no longer your doom, Morgana. We’ve … we’ve found another way.”

He hesitated, hoping she would say something, but she didn’t respond.

Nodding to himself, he lifted his hand and let his magic coil round the collar.

A moment later, it disintegrated into dust.

Morgana sucked in a deep breath, her eyes closing briefly.

Then they snapped open, flooded with gold. She threw out a hand and Merlin was blasted backwards away from her. His head hit the floor as he landed and the scene shifted out of focus for a few seconds.

When he could makes sense of what was happening, he saw Morgana striding from the room. The knights had drawn their swords, but Morgana hadn’t moved to attack any of the others.

“Are you alright?” Arthur demanded, suddenly at Merlin’s side.

“Fine,” Merlin replied, eyes fixed on Morgana’s retreating form. “I guess I deserved that.”

* * *

Guinevere left for Essetir three weeks after Morgana left.

It surprised Merlin that at the official ceremony for Gwen’s departure, Leon stood and requested that he be sent as well.

Arthur hadn’t seemed surprised. Instead, he seemed happy and appointed Leon as Guinevere’s first knight and protector.

They had met no resistance with installing Gwen as Queen of Essetir. Annis and Rodor had thought her an excellent choice, and only Odin had hesitated, looking a little wistful as if he wished he had thought to seize the kingdom earlier.

Merlin spoke to Gwen only briefly before she left, just the two of them. It seemed far too little time after all the years together, but what needed to be said, was said.

“Look after him,” Gwen said, her expression full of kindness and warmth. “And you too. You’ve done enough to protect the kingdoms now, surely?” She smiled. “Look at us. Nothing but servants … yet here we are.”

“You’ll be a great queen, Gwen,” Merlin said sincerely. “You already are. And … I’m sorry it has to be this way. I’m sorry--”

Gwen hushed him with a small laugh. “Look at you! I thought I was the one to babble.” Her laughter quietened, but the warmth didn’t leave her voice. “Never apologise for love, Merlin. Never apologise for love.”

Merlin bit his lip, and then pulled Gwen into a hug. She returned it, squeezing tight.

“I’ll miss you,” Merlin said. “I’ve got to put up with Arthur all by myself now.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” Gwen replied, her laugh a little hollow. When they broke, she was teary eyed, but she hastily brushed them away. “I’ll miss you too, Merlin. Look after yourself.”

* * *

After Gwen and Leon had left, the castle seemed strangely empty. As soon as Gwaine was back to full health, he began training with Arthur and Percival again, but the lack of Leon, and the other knights they’d lost in Asard’s first attack, meant the training ground felt all but deserted.

Despite this, Camelot was flourishing. Sorcerers were coming out of hiding across the land as Arthur repealed the ban on magic and declared the war with Morgana at an end.

Trade throughout the kingdoms was prosperous and Arthur had plans for yule celebrations, inviting the kings and queens together, in peace, for the first time.

Peacetime was good.

Merlin found that he and Arthur had settled into a comfortable and relaxed routine. Merlin remained as Arthur’s manservant, but Arthur also gave him certain important duties to help bring magic back to Camelot.

They understood each other now. They _knew_ each other. _Loved_ each other.

* * *

The sunsets in Camelot were something to truly behold. Yellow and red streaks lit up the sky as the sun sank slowly behind the hills. Merlin watched from the battlements, ignoring the chill on the air, waiting to see the stars come out.

He remembered looking out over Camelot on his first night in the castle. The innocent awe and wonder in the big city. Now he was comforted by the view. It was home.

He sensed Arthur long before the man stepped up behind Merlin and wrapped his arms round him.

“You’re cold,” Arthur murmured, pressing a kiss against Merlin’s neck, just above his neckerchief.

“I was watching the stars,” Merlin replied, relaxing into Arthur’s embrace.

They stayed there, arms entwined, wrapped close to each other as the light faded from the sky and the stars came out overhead.

“In some stories in the Old Religion,” Merlin said, some time later, “they say that one’s future can be divined from the stars.”

Arthur gave a small noise of interest. He shifted slightly and Merlin pressed himself closer.

“What’s our future then?” Arthur asked quietly.

Merlin looked up to the stars, aware that Arthur wasn’t staring at the sky, but at Merlin.

A shooting star crossed the sky, there one minute and gone the next, it’s golden trail burning in a moment of glory.

Merlin gave a huff of laughter.

“What?” Arthur asked.

“Oh, just that the future doesn’t look so bad,” Merlin replied, looking back to Arthur and taking a moment to gaze into his eyes before he leaned in for a kiss.

He had no idea what the future would hold, but he hoped it would be bright.

And, at least, no longer plagued by destiny, it would be their own.

  
**_Fin_ **


End file.
